"You're dancing very badly, Mr. Schmielke," she said, and next moment flew past him in little Ziëntek's arms.
"Psia krew!" Mr. Schmielke had already accustomed himself to the Polish way of swearing. That hop o' my thumb, that little milksop of a post office clerk, had better try to come near him, he would soon take him in hand. He called himself master of the ceremonies, and his duty was obviously to provide for the entertainment of the guests. Why, he was thinking of nobody but himself--the perjurer, the liar! the vain little Pole!
Mr. Ziëntek danced much better than the Prussian tax-collector, but even he found no favour in Mrs. Tiralla's eyes. She finished the dance with him; but just as he, with laboured breath and beating pulse, was about to commence an intimate, low-toned conversation with her, she nodded an absent-minded "Thanks," without listening to what he was saying, and was immediately carried off by Mr. Rózycki, the butcher.
Rózycki was a capital dancer, in spite of his stoutness. He had dragged on a pair of white kid gloves, and was enjoying himself so much that the perspiration was streaming down his face and falling in big drops on to his partner's shoulder. But that was quite immaterial to Mrs. Tiralla at the present moment, and she did not mind either if it were butcher or baker or post office clerk with whom she was dancing, as long as she could dance. But not with Mr. Tiralla, she would not have liked to dance with him. As their eyes met, and he raised his glass and gave her a pleasant nod, she frowned gloomily and took no notice of him. She looked very worn at that moment; all her youthfulness seemed to have disappeared.
But that was only for a moment, and her face became quite smooth again as she whirled round the room with her skilful partner, against whose body she was constantly knocking. He remained in the middle of the room with her, just under the chandelier, so that everybody could see him and her. He felt as though he were the king of the ball. He would soon stop his wife's tongue if she should venture later on to reproach him for having danced so long with Sophia Tiralla. He had now danced three times round the room with her without stopping, he didn't seem to be able to tire her out. However, when he felt that he could not dance any longer, he drew a deep breath, gave an exultant cheer, and lifted his charming partner right up into the air.
Deafening cheers resounded through the ballroom. The men were like mad. They pushed and buffeted and pressed round the snow-white little lamb under the chandelier like rams that had been let loose.
Mrs. Tiralla did not utter a sound as her strong partner raised her from the ground. Her lips were scarlet, her little nostrils trembled, her eyes laughed.
A feeling of deep dejection came over her later on when she was sitting at the table with Mr. Schmielke, with Ziëntek on the other side, and her husband opposite to her. She did not want to eat anything; when she saw how Mr. Tiralla was devouring his food she lost her appetite. All at once she felt she had had enough of it all; the dance nauseated her as well as the food. For to-morrow she would again be alone with her husband at Starydwór. The more court the men paid her that evening the more she abhorred him. There was nobody here who could have charmed her. This Mr. Schmielke at her side, bah! True, all the girls ran after him, and he was constantly whispering some amorous nonsense in her ear and secretly pressing his knee against her dress, and seeking her foot. But she could have lived a hundred years on a desert island with him, and he would never have been dangerous to her. And Ziëntek, that little fair-haired fellow, what did she care for such a stupid boy? Her lip curled with a disdainful smile. What did she care for all the others, those husbands who cooed round her like pigeons? On the whole, what did she care for all the men in the world? She felt herself infinitely superior to them all; her hand remained cool in spite of the most ardent pressure; no hot blood ever flew to her head. And still she would rather have given herself to any one of them than to her husband. It angered her that he should show so little jealousy. Was he so sure of her? What would he say if she chose somebody else?
Her eyes began to rove about--big, restless eyes, that wandered all over the table.
Mr. Schmielke intercepted such a glance, and took it as an encouragement. What, was he to conquer this little woman after all? He boldly pushed his chair still nearer to hers, for he knew that audacity had more effect upon women than anything else. He had drunk a considerable amount during the course of the evening, and he went on drinking during supper: a glass of Tokay with the salad, beer with the roast pork and duck, and now he ordered a bottle of Moselle with the vanilla ice.