"Oh, there are no thieves here." The maid gave a loud laugh, it sounded too ridiculous that the Pani, who had never been afraid of thieves, should suddenly speak of them. Surely she had not come down on account of them? But why? It had never occurred to her to creep down to Mr. Tiralla before? Marianna's eyes grew very big. But then she suddenly thought, she has wanted to see how he feels after the food, for he ate every bit of it, the poor man. Marianna sighed. Then she cast an insolent glance at her mistress and said:
"Well, and how's the master? I suppose he's not very well, eh?"
"Why, why?" asked the woman, trembling. But then she grew calm, the girl's impertinent glances helped her to regain her composure. "I don't know what you mean," she said in a lofty tone. "Mr. Tiralla is sleeping quietly." With a slight nod she turned away and crept so softly up to her room that not a stair creaked.
Driven by curiosity Marianna put her head into her master's room. All was dark; she could see nothing, but she heard him breathing regularly and deeply. He did not even groan, he was sleeping so quietly. Was he still alive? She groped her way to the bed. Thank God, there he lay warm and comfortable.
As she bent over him he stretched out his arms and stammered, half asleep, "Heigh, darling!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mrs. Tiralla was standing before her glass upstairs looking at her pale, disfigured face. She felt overcome with shame, a shame that was even greater than her terror. What must the maid have thought of her? Dark lines under her eyes, her hair dishevelled, her face all mottled. Oh, God! She had submitted to it all--and he was still alive. She was seized with a violent fit of fury, she would have liked to destroy everything, smash everything to pieces. Pressing her clenched fists against her forehead she uttered a deep groan. She was the one who had been deceived, she always was. Böhnke, too, had deceived her. Had he not told her that fly agarics--the orange-red mushrooms with white warts--were very poisonous, and that the devil's toadstool--the brown, squat one which so strongly resembled the boletus edulis--was even more so? He had brought a book with him, and had read it to her secretly in the little garden with the palings all round, where they had stolen like a pair of lovers who want to be as far away from everybody as possible. He had also shown her the illustrations, and she had watched most carefully as he pointed out what the poisonous mushrooms looked like. She had impressed it firmly on her memory. Four fly agarics were enough to bring death, people said, but he--he lived. But had she not also read in the schoolmaster's book that "death can either occur in the course of an hour or two, or after two or three days"? H'm, Mr. Tiralla was very strong, what would kill any other man scarcely affected him. She would have to wait then, wait.
She threw herself on her knees. If only he had died at once, this waiting was so awful. She dreaded the thought of what the morrow might bring forth. She had been calm enough while cooking the mushrooms, but now she was the reverse. She could hardly bear to wait any longer. But now it was no longer a great longing for his death, which was to bring her release, it was only a fervent desire to be free from this great fear which oppressed her heart and confused her senses. She sprang up from her knees as though she were out of her mind, then threw herself down again, the next moment to jump up once more and raise her clasped hands to heaven. "Mary, Holy Virgin, pray for me!" What was the Holy Virgin to pray for? Oh, she knew what for; knew better than she did herself, for she did not know any longer. Life? Death? Alas, alas, now she would have preferred him to live; only not to see him lying there distorted with convulsions, and with the hue of death already on his face.
The woman crept into the darkest corner of the room like a frightened animal, and bit her hands, which she had pressed against her mouth, and wept and trembled. How slowly the night crept on, would it never, never be day? How quietly Rosa was breathing. She was sleeping so well. Oh, to be a child once more, an innocent child who knows nothing of Life's wickedness.
Mrs. Tiralla was filled with an intense longing for innocence and purity, for a blameless, peaceful life. She would go to confession as soon as possible next morning. She would confess everything, so that she could breathe once more as quietly as her child. Even at the last examination of conscience she had not been able to find the right expression for what was stirring in her heart. But now, when the sins against the fifth commandment were being enumerated: "Have you by means of blows, curses, and such-like injured yourself or others, are you angry, envious, revengeful, have you lived in hatred and enmity with others, have you grieved others by bitter words, have you hurt them intentionally?" now she would strike her breast and cry, "Yes, yes," so that she might say later on, "I thank Thee, Divine Redeemer, that Thou hast given me absolution and forgiveness for my sins in the Sacrament of Penance."