He went up to her with outstretched arms, but she escaped from him as she so often had escaped from her husband, and ran behind the table. This was now between him and her. Her husband had always tried to catch her on these occasions, and had run after her round the big table like a boy playing at tig, but the schoolmaster did not do that. He did not move; he had suddenly grown very pale and his outstretched arms had sunk down. So she didn't want him to? It was a very keen disappointment.
What on earth was the schoolmaster dreaming of? Mrs. Tiralla almost flew into a passion. But then she noticed how dejected he looked, how his eyes avoided hers, and a sudden fear befell her. What if he were to be so angry with her now that he turned away from her, and she were to be as lonely as she had been before? Oh, only not that, she must have one helping hand. Wasn't he the helper, the friend whom the Holy Virgin had sent her? She daren't let him go away like that, she would have to grant him one favour, but only one. And she came from behind her bulwark; she had no fear, for she felt that she had this man entirely in her power. She went up to him, put her arms round his neck and kissed him quickly on the cheek.
"Go now," she whispered, "go! It's late--midnight--what will Marianna think? I shouldn't like people to talk about me. Go!"
She urged him to be gone and he obeyed her, for he had got a kiss, a kiss from her. He thirsted for another one, but wasn't this a beginning?
When Marianna lighted him to the road, he embraced her with such force that she let the lantern fall, she was so startled.
The sober man was quite changed. He stumbled across the fields as though he were intoxicated, and everything seemed to swim before his eyes. Starydwór lay behind him, Starydwór lay in front of him, Starydwór lay to the right, Starydwór lay to the left. Starydwór was everywhere.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The schoolmaster seemed almost as intoxicated as Mr. Tiralla was, as he crossed the fields on his way home from the village some hours later. But he did not see Starydwór everywhere, as the other man had done, for it was quite impossible for him to find his own farm. It was as though it had disappeared from the globe, or as though he had nothing more to do there.
It happened now and then that Mr. Tiralla indulged in too much drink--now and then on special occasions such as the Sokol's entertainment, or lately the Gradewitz ball--who wouldn't have done that? But as a rule Mr. Tiralla was what you might call a sober man. The fact was that he could stand a great deal. But this evening he had drunk nothing but gin. He had felt so sad, oh, so sad; he didn't know himself why he had felt so sad. He had known for a long time that his Sophia was very irritable, so that couldn't have caused it; he had also known that his Rosa was a very pious child; really too pious, a remarkably pious child. But to-day there was something else, something that weighed him down to such a degree, that it had almost broken his heart. He had to drink in order to get rid of the weight that was oppressing him; drink until he was intoxicated. And he could only arrive at that state with the help of gin.
The acquaintances he had met at the inn had been very much surprised at his behaviour. Mr. Tiralla was so quiet; he didn't brag at all about his Sophia. It was as though he had been put to silence. The priest had said a few kind words to him about his daughter, when he came to the inn for a short time after his supper; she was an excellent child, a pure soul with whom God was well pleased. But Mr. Tiralla had only smiled feebly.