Mrs. Tiralla's eyes had always been beautiful, velvety, deep,
speaking eyes, but now there was a soft gleam in them, instead of the
restless flickering that had so often been there--the gleam of love.

She gazed at Martin Becker with a deep, warm look. When they went to
the Przykop together, as they had arranged to do as soon as Mr. Tiralla
was asleep, she would say to him, "I thank you." How she longed to say
to him, "I thank you for coming to Starydwor, I thank you for coming as
a deliverer. Look, I've become cleansed through you. Oh, how I love
you, [Pg 234] how I thank you!" But would he understand her? No, how
could he, for what did he know? If she were to say to him, "I've become
cleansed through you," he would look at her with big, astonished eyes,
for he did not know of any guilt. But was she really guilty? No, she
was not--the woman raised her head with a confident air--no, she knew
of no guilt either. The memory of all those years with all those bad
days and bad thoughts had disappeared as though they had never existed.
She was once more as young and as innocent as she had been when she sat
in her priest's study. It had been quite a different woman who had
sighed at Starydwor for so many years, who had wept and had again and
again endeavoured to free herself from this hateful husband. Poison?
She had to smile; how kind the saints had been to her; they had
preserved her from the poison. Now Mr. Tiralla drank. And if he
continued to drink as he was doing, so much Tokay and beer and gin,
then he would soon drink himself into the grave. God be gracious to his
poor soul!

The look that the woman cast at her husband was almost compassionate;
he never disturbed her now. She nodded with a smile to her lover and
then pushed the bottle, which was not yet empty, nearer to her husband.
"Won't you finish it?"

He mumbled something unintelligible as he gazed into his glass, but did
not look at her. Then she filled his glass to the brim, and as he still
did not drink and did not even stretch his hand out to take it, she
took hold of it, sipped a little, and then almost pushed it into his
hand. "Your health! Much good may it do you!"

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

[Pg 235]

Mr. Tiralla was asleep. They had not even waited until he fell from his
chair, for he was still sitting in his place, although his head had
fallen on the table. They need not have left the room, however, for
they wer