much more--was she alive too?

The woman's eyes almost started out of her head, and she stretched out
a trembling finger. There, there came the hen out of the house, shook
herself, put her claws first through one of her outspread wings and
then through the other, smoothed her white feathers with her beak, and
cackled long and proudly. She had already laid her egg that morning.

And the others? Mrs. Tiralla hastily stuck her head into the hen-house.
There they were, all sitting on the perch; not one of them was missing,
not one dead.

Suddenly a heavy load fell from the woman's heart. There was nothing
the matter with her beautiful white hen. She caught hold of the bird,
and, pressing it [Pg 172] in her arms, caressed and stroked it in spite
of its struggles.

But her joy was followed by the most violent fear, a fear that was
mingled with disappointment and relief. Now Mr. Tiralla would not die
either. The poison was no good, they had been imposed upon. Or--she put
her hands to her head, and then she felt as though she ought to fall on
her knees--the saints had not willed it. Yes, they had prevented it. It
was poison after all, that, she had in the box. She felt it burning her
skin through all her skirts. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph!" She heaved a sigh
as she tore the box out of her pocket. The saints were not on her side,
so it was still not the right thing; away with it. She wanted to hurl
it away, into the pool, or there on the dunghill. But then she let her
outstretched arm sink--not there. Innocent people might find it, the
animals might eat it. But what should she do with it? All at once she
dreaded it; she would not have it in her chest any more. Besides, she
had no use for it now; if the saints were on her side, she would not be
obliged to give him the poison.

She returned to the house like one who had been saved. There she found
everybody astir. Mr. Tiralla had also got up early, and was already
busy helping Rosa to fix the wreath over the door. He was standing on a
stool and she was handing him the nails, and at every dull stroke from
the hammer he gave a laugh, and the child clapped her hands. "Now it's
fast. It looks pretty like that."

Mrs. Tiralla beckoned to her husband as she passed by. "Come here a
moment."

She was beckoning to him? He felt much surprised, but followed her at
once into his room.

As he entered she was standing in the middle of the [Pg 173] room near
the table, holding out a little b