His eyes wandered about restlessly; there was nothing to be seen but a desolate field over which black birds were flying, but in his mind's eye he already saw her. How she smiled! Always beautiful, either merry or sad; always seductive, either good or bad. The same fever was raging within him that had always driven him along this road. He ran until he was breathless; every minute longer that he could be with her before the others returned seemed of the utmost importance. He had hardly any breath left when he reached the farm, and he rushed into the room without knocking. There she stood, she for whom he was longing.
Hardly had Mr. Tiralla driven away with Rosa than Mrs. Tiralla left the maid to bake the cakes alone. There was no need to keep up appearances any longer. What did she care about the stepson who was coming home to-day? She had never liked nor disliked him; still, she felt that he played a more important part in her life now. She must, she would please him. He must like her so well that he would turn and listen to her rather than to his father. She must win his ear and his eyes, and thereby his heart. She, therefore, went up to her room, combed her beautiful thick hair, so that it looked silkier than ever, and put on a pretty dress; not too grand a one, but still, not her everyday one. If he had eyes, he must be able to see that she had put on her Sunday dress for his sake. She rubbed her cheeks; did they still look pale? She endeavoured to put on a pleasant smile; did she look beautiful now, as beautiful as formerly? She examined herself attentively in the glass upstairs in her bedroom, and then downstairs in the big room; she was wrapped up in her own thoughts.
Thus Böhnke found her.
His noisy entrance had startled her, and she flew at him. Böhnke--what did he want? Why did he come to-day and disturb her?
"So you've really shown yourself again?" she said. "Why have you come to-day? What do you want?"
"Mr. Tiralla--was in the carriage--I met him," he said with difficulty. He stood before her with bent head, as though he were a miserable sinner.
She was half beside herself with anger when she saw him standing like that. Such a wretched coward, and a liar to boot. "Why have you deceived me?" she cried furiously.
"I--I've never deceived you." He understood at once to what she was referring. So that was why she was so angry with him. He raised two fingers as though he were taking an oath, and said eagerly, "By God, I've not deceived you. If you had the right mushrooms, then"--he shrugged his shoulders--"then I don't understand it. I'm blameless."
"They were the right ones," she answered tersely. "He ate them."
"Ate them? Ate them?"