Then he staggered to the washstand and stuck his head, which felt dizzy, deep down into the basin. How his face smarted. He was cooling it as the maid came in.
Marianna clasped her hands in dismay. "What is it, Panje?" Oh, dear, what a sight Pan Tiralla was. It was awful, his face was scratched all over. Where had he got it? Had he fallen amongst thorns? She ran into the kitchen lamenting and fetched a little lard to put on it.
Mr. Tiralla sat as quiet as a lamb and let the servant smear his scratches with it, but he never said a word, in spite of Marianna's inquiries. Fallen amongst thorns, fallen amongst thorns, yes, that he had! He continued to nod in a stupid kind of way. Then he groaned and moaned like a man who has been heavily wounded, and laid his head on the table. It was all up, all up. And he had believed, when she was so kind to him the night before, kinder than she had been for a long time--oh, what a fool he had been, what an idiot! He began to cry in a resigned kind of way. He could not think any more; besides, he did not want to think about it any more--what was the good? He could not alter what was coming.
He sent for gin. Ah, that made him feel easier, that did him good. He sat banging the table with his fist, and now and then he would give a hiccoughing sob, "So-phia--So-phia!" He had always loved her so.
CHAPTER X
If Mrs. Tiralla believed that she would have reason to fear her husband now, she was mistaken. There was no necessity for her to steal away so that he should not see her, for he kept out of her way as well as everybody else's. They were all so fond of her, they hung on her words; she was a witch, and if he were to tell what he knew about her, who knows, perhaps she might do something worse to him? He was terrified of her in secret. When he heard her steps he would cower involuntarily; he preferred her not to come where he happened to be. He scarcely ate anything at meal time; even if he had been hungry he would not have ventured to partake of anything. The drink he took nourished him; he grew stouter and stouter, and his eyes were embedded in fat. He would only eat what the maid brought him, but he ordered her not to say anything to her mistress about it. "Very good, very good," she would answer, with a nod, but when she spoke to others about her master, she would point to her forehead and say in a sad voice, "Poor master! I think he drinks too much."
Everybody said that Mr. Tiralla had become a drunkard. True, he hardly ever came to the inn now when the gentry were there, but he would drink in secret either at home or at the inn at a different time to the others. He avoided his former companions; they had not seen him for weeks.
Loud were the exclamations, therefore, when they caught him early one afternoon sitting all alone at the inn. They had made up their minds to take him by surprise some time, and now they had found him.
"Psia krew, old fellow," cried Jokisch, "where have you been? You and I are neighbours, and still I never see you."
The forester, who had been obliged to complain of Mr. Tiralla formerly, said to him in a friendly, reproachful voice, "I never meet you in the Przykop now." Schmielke and the gendarme also gave vent to their astonishment--why did Mr. Tiralla no more appear at the usual table? The priest, too, had been very much surprised that he never came to church either. That was not right, he really must go. He ought to pray twice as much as others, he the husband of such a pious and--there was a momentary pause and Mr. Schmielke gave a waggish laugh--beautiful wife.