"Listen!" She fell on her knees beside him and piously raised her hands. "Do you hear? The angels in heaven, with your guardian angel at their head, are shouting, 'Hallelujah'."
Mr. Tiralla mumbled something unintelligible.
Rosa did not hear it; she heard nothing more, for her soul had taken wings and flown out of the stifling room. God had heard her, the Lord was with her. The joy she felt almost overpowered her; her cheeks were wet with the tears of sweet exhaustion that comes when every nerve has been strained. What were all the joys of the world compared to the joy of saving her father and of delivering his soul from perdition? She buried her face in her hands, and a tremor passed over her.
There was silence in the room, but the storm was whistling and howling outside.
Mr. Tiralla had seized the bottle, but not to hurl it on the ground as Rosa had bidden him; he clasped it nervously to his breast, as if it were a priceless treasure that must be taken care of.
So they even wanted to rob him of that, the last thing he possessed? He would not let them take it from him, he would rather die. "Psia krew!" He swore so loudly that he startled his daughter.
Awakened out of her trance of bliss, Rosa saw with horror that her father was holding the bottle to his lips and drinking, drinking, hiccoughing and groaning, until he could drink no more, until the gin ran out again at the corners of his mouth. He sighed when he had to leave off; but he did not put the bottle on the table again, he hid it under his jersey.
"Go--go, girl," he growled angrily, and glared at her with malevolent eyes. "What do you want from me? My precious bottle"--he patted the place where he had hidden it--"you're the best friend I've got now. Come, my love, don't cry," he said, pinching Rosa's cheek as she sobbed. His spirits had improved since he knew the bottle was safe.
"My darling girl,
Why are you weeping?"
he croaked huskily. Then he grinned. His Rosa would soon get married now, would soon have children, many little grandchildren-girls as small as this one, and he gazed once more at the floor. There she was, the little girl who could not reach up to the table. He had long ago chosen a fine, handsome husband for his Rosa. "Look out, he'll soon be coming now." He nudged his daughter with his elbow, and blinked at her with the same expression in his eyes as when he had been thinking of Marianna. Then he chuckled to himself. What a joke, what a joke! He tried to slap his knee, but he could not; all at once his arm felt paralyzed, as heavy as lead, and his tongue obeyed him even less than his arm. He stretched it out after every sound, but the sounds would not form themselves into words; his furred tongue trembled the whole time.