Mr. Tiralla stood outside in the yard blinking in the pale moonlight. It was autumn and the night was cold; he felt so chilly that he shivered and coughed more than ever; he fumbled about with restless fingers. Were the powders still in the little box that he had carried about with him for so long? Were they really there, quite safe? Ugh! Sophia was trying to kill him again!
His teeth, which had grown quite loose, chattered in his terror. If he were asleep and felt nothing? Had she not already once put her hand into his pocket? If she found them this time, he would be done for. But she should not have the chance. A cunning grin distorted his face, which had grown as yellow as it before was red, and the expression of which was now just as weak and malevolent as it before had been good-natured. He would hide the powders in quite a different place, and she should never, never get to know where they had been put. No, never!
Casting a timid glance around to see if anybody were watching him, he tottered across the yard. Nobody was there, nothing but the moon, that looked out from between the clouds above the barn and gave light.
There was not a sound to be heard, neither snorting nor lowing; the horses were standing in front of the rack, sleeping, and the cows were lying in the straw.
There was a hiding-place in the darkest corner of the stables, which he remembered from his boyhood, and where he had hidden many a pilfered apple and pear, and his first cigar, from his father's keen eyes.
Look, the loose brick was still in the corner. If you took it out, you would find a hole three times as big as was necessary for hiding the little box containing the powders.
There, now put the stone into its place again. Nobody would guess what was lying behind it. Now the spiders could again weave a close web in front of it like a veil, and nobody would spoil it for them. H'm, that was very well done, said Mr. Tiralla to himself, with a satisfied growl. Let Sophia look and look until she was blind, she would never find them--ha, ha!
He laughed hoarsely to himself. Then he looked around in the dim stables, in which the lantern only cast a feeble light, and shuddered. If she were to find them after all? He uttered a deep groan and pressed his hands to his head. Oh, how awful it was that this terror never left him in peace. "Ha!" He gave a hoarse cry and shrank back. Was not something rustling? He trembled, he would have sunk on the ground with fright if a strong hand had not seized him by the arm and held him on his feet.
It was Marianna, who had come with her milk pails. She was very frightened herself--what did Pan Tiralla want there, what was he looking for? He was not like the young master, who often used to waylay her at milking time. Poor master! and how ill he looked, it was enough to make your hair stand on end. She felt very sorry for the old gentleman. Were they not all making fun of him? And he had always been so good to her.
So she gave him a cheery smile and clapped him on the back. "You must not fret, Panje. Don't fret because your wife is good friends with Becker." She cast a covert glance at him as she said it, for she was curious to know what kind of a face he would make.