will do everything, and you will like Martin. He has no
parents, and hails from Klein-Hauland, near Opalenitza. I will let you
know the day we are coming. Dear mother, if you will be kind to Becker
I shall be grateful to you, for he is a good fellow. Dear sister, I
kiss you in my thoughts; our Rosa has, no doubt, grown into a pretty
girl. We shall come, all being well, in seven weeks' time. With a kiss
to you all,
"Your affectionate Son."

That was his son, just as he was in reality, his dear, good son. A
sudden affection for the boy who had been away from home so long awoke
in Mr. Tiralla's heart. It was such a long time since he had seen
anything of him. He had been away almost three years, and although he
had twice driven to Breslau during that time and had looked him up at
the barracks, still it was very different from having him at home. It
was a good thing that the boy was coming.

It seemed to Mr. Tiralla as though he had been thinking of his Mikolai
the whole time he had been [Pg 156] away; but that had not been the
case. How could he have had leisure to think of him? All, all his
thoughts had been taken up with his Sophia. But now he was filled with
an impatient longing for his son; he could hardly await the time when
the reserves would be dismissed. If only he were at home. The evenings
were already growing long; there were no more beautiful summer
evenings, for the weather had turned cool and dreary unusually early.
Such evenings were very dismal in Starydwor if you had nobody to sit
and talk to.

Mrs. Tiralla was ill, and her strange behaviour had made her husband
quite ill, too. His Sophia! What was the matter with her? Was she angry
with him? He ransacked his brain to find out what he had done to her,
but he found nothing. He had done his utmost to put her into a good
humour. He had driven to Rosenthal's in Gnesen and bought her a smart
black-and-white check coat and skirt. It suited her admirably, and when
she had it on she looked like a fine lady going on her travels. But all
he could get from her was a feeble, "I should have preferred a black
costume." Then he had driven to Gnesen and ordered her a black costume,
and as that had not turned out satisfactory, he had even gone to Posen
about it. But when he had brought it home--it had been nice and
dear--she had only said, "But I can't wear it after all." The deuce,
why not? The truth was, he never could do an