"Psia krew!" Mr. Tiralla scrambled out of the ditch, all of a sudden quite sober. The soft snow had felt like a downy feather bed, and he hadn't hurt himself in the slightest. What a joke! How often he had been upset in that ditch. H'm, if the horses hadn't been so sensible. He patted their necks and praised them. And then he called to his wife, "Heigh, Sophia, where have you got to?"
She did not answer. She had not hurt herself either; she lay on her back in the ditch, snow under her, snow on both sides of her, and above her the early morning sky, clear and rosy. She closed her eyes again; let him call her, she would remain where she was for ever.
Then she suddenly remembered that her beautiful ball-dress from that good dressmaker in Posen might be spoiled. Her fur cloak could not keep the snow-water out very long; she already felt it penetrating into her shoes. Ugh, how wet and horrid it was! She would never be able to put the dress on again. She jumped up hastily, and called to her husband to help her. And when she had safely got out of the ditch, she shook her skirts and examined her dress, and was delighted to find that nothing had been spoiled.
They got into the carriage again. But now Mr. Tiralla kept his eyes open, although he felt fit to drop with fatigue. What would Sophia say if he were to upset her once more? "I'm sorry, my dear," he murmured, in a crestfallen voice. She said nothing.
As they reached the gate, they found it wide open just as they had left it. The front door was not locked either, the latch was, of course, down, but the door had not been bolted.
"Jendrek, Marianna," shouted Mr. Tiralla, at the top of his voice. Was nobody coming to take the horses? Where were those rascals sleeping? And the other men, the day labourers, hadn't come yet. The farmer scolded and groaned when he found that he would have to unharness the horses himself and take them to the stable.
Mrs. Tiralla went into the room and called the maid. But Marianna, who always came running so submissively when her mistress called her, did not appear either. The woman grew so angry, that she almost tore the ball-dress off her back, and then let it lie on the floor. Disgraceful, disloyal, shameless hussy! Where could she be sleeping so sweetly that she neither heard nor saw anything?
When Mr. Tiralla came into the room his wife snubbed him as angrily as if he had been Marianna.
He tried to appease her. "That'll do, that'll do, my love. We know all about it." He laughed good-naturedly. "They're young, we must excuse them."
Oh, so he condoned such things? Perhaps even considered them right? Well, then! There was a strange expression in Mrs. Tiralla's eyes as she stared straight in front of her. She let her husband press a kiss on her neck without feeling it, and then she ran in her petticoat and without anything over her shoulders through the cold house up to her bedroom.