ping his
glass up and laughing to him. Had he the constitution of a giant, or
had nothing happened? The schoolmaster stood in front of the carriage
with downcast eyes, full of uncertainty and embarrassment.

"Why haven't you been to see us, little Boehnke?" asked Mr. Tiralla
upbraidingly. "It's wrong of you; I've had to sit a great deal alone
and drink." He gave a loud laugh, but then he added in a gentle voice,
"If my Roeschen hadn't been there. I suppose, little Boehnke"--he bent
down from the box, gave the other man a dig in the ribs, and whispered
with a grin--"I suppose there's a woman behind it in your case as well,
eh?"

The schoolmaster recoiled; he felt disgusted. Mr. Tiralla's breath
smelt of nothing but gin and alcohol. "Oh, I'll come," he answered
coldly, and was about to turn away.

But Mr. Tiralla did not let him off so easily. "We're driving to
Gradewitz, will you come with us? We're going to fetch my son from the
station; he's coming home. He's bringing somebody with him, a nice
young fellow. Get up, little Boehnke, get up. This'll be jolly."

But the schoolmaster refused with thanks. He had something to do, he
would have to stop at home, he could not get away--no, on no account.

[Pg 181]

However, when he had seen the carriage drive down the village street as
quickly as the uneven road and deep ruts permitted, he turned into the
fields and walked towards Starydwor instead of going home. She was now
alone. It would be a long time before they came back; he would be able
to question her without being disturbed, talk to her and hear why her
husband had not had any mushrooms. He ran as fast as he could.

His coat-tails flapped in the wind like raven's wings. A sudden
jealousy gripped him; Mr. Tiralla had spoken of a nice young fellow.
And Mikolai was also a young fellow. Two young fellows, and with her
day and night under the same roof. Stepmother? Pooh! She was still
young and so beautiful.

His eyes wandered about restlessly; there was nothing to be seen but a
desolate field over which black birds were flying, but in his mind's
eye he already saw her. How she smiled! Always beautiful, either merry
or sad; always seductive, either good or bad. The same fever was raging
within him that had always driven him along this road. He ran until he
was breathless; every minute longer that he could be with her before
the others returned seemed of the utmost importance. He had hardly any
breath left when he