s, threw her the kiss, and stared at
her with watery eyes.

Martin Becker gazed at her too, as though there were something quite
new about her. He had never known that she was so beautiful; by Jove,
there was nobody like her. The girl certainly resembled her very
little. No wonder that everybody ran after her, as Mr. Tiralla had told
him the first day they met; he could easily believe it. He stroked his
dark moustache and looked her full in the face with his fine eyes. Then
she smiled still more seductively, and he smiled at her again. He liked
her very much.

As they said good night to each other her hand nestled in his; he felt
its warm softness, and pressed it more firmly than he had ever done
before. How thin Rosa's little hands were compared with hers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

[Pg 210]

Mrs. Tiralla was standing in her room upstairs in front of the
looking-glass, undressing. She was doing it very slowly; she felt the
whole time as though she must go downstairs once more and walk down the
long passage past the young men's door. Was he already asleep?

Mikolai and Becker had gone early to bed, as they had to rise with the
lark next morning and go to their work. Rosa had likewise gone to her
room after supper. But Mrs. Tiralla had talked some time to Marianna in
the kitchen, whilst her husband remained sitting at the table with his
head resting in his hands, dozing. He had made no attempt to keep his
wife when she left the room.

Did he know by now that he was repugnant to her? Mrs. Tiralla almost
thought he did; he often looked askance at her now, whilst his purple
lip would droop sullenly. She was glad to think it; good, let him know
it; it had taken her long enough to make him understand that she hated
and despised him too. Thanks be to God and all His saints, praise be to
them a thousand times, Mr. Tiralla had left her in peace for months,
from the day his son had returned home, the day she had failed in her
attempt with the poisonous corn. The saints had not permitted it at the
time, and it was a good thing, for since he had taken such a liking to
the bottle, she had got rid of him in that way. She had had nothing to
confess to Father Szypulski.

"Thanks be to the holy saints." The woman devoutly made the sign of the
cross as she stood before the glass. Then she thrust her hands through
her hair and pulled her long, thick tresses down, so that they hung
around her l