She kissed him on both cheeks and smiled at him. He also smiled, and she felt that the reception had pleased him.
"Here we are," shouted Mr. Tiralla. "Mikolai, my son, help me down from this confounded conveyance." They all helped him.
"Oh, mummy, how dreadful!" whispered Rosa to her mother as she clung to her. "I believe daddy has been drinking too much. He stopped everywhere."
"That doesn't matter," answered Mrs. Tiralla, pushing her daughter aside. Then she bade her son's friend, Martin Becker, who had driven so smartly, a smiling welcome.
Mr. Tiralla had indeed overdone it. He felt very unwell. As they all sat drinking coffee round the festive-looking table, on which a coloured cloth had been spread, he looked at them with doll eyes. "So now we're all together again." Then he nodded to his son and got up. "I'll lie down a little on my bed. Send Marianna to help me. Psia krew!" He yawned, and staggered to the door.
His son jumped up and wanted to help him, but he sent him back. "No, it's not necessary, go back." And then he added in a furtive whisper, and it seemed as though there were a note of fear in his voice, "Go and talk to her, you must talk to her."
"Father has drunk a little too much," said the man, with a laugh, as he sat down at the table again. How good the coffee tasted; it had neither been so strong nor so pure in the army. And the cakes had turned out a great success. He nodded brightly to his stepmother, as she sat opposite him and his friend. He felt something like gratitude rising in his heart; it was really very nice of her to bake his favourite cakes, and to receive Martin into the house. She was gazing at his friend the whole time. Heigh, was she not going to cast a glance at him too? He cleared his throat and tried to attract her attention by looking her up and down in the same way the soldiers used to look at the girls as they strolled past them, arm-in-arm. She was certainly a good-looking woman, even if she were his stepmother.
But she paid no attention to her stepson, and when he at last addressed some indifferent question to her, she started, turned crimson, and then smiled absentmindedly. Where were her thoughts? Perhaps she felt disheartened because his father was drunk. It could certainly not be very agreeable for a wife. When Mikolai came to think of it, he did not take it amiss that she seemed to have neither eyes nor ears for anything. But if she did not want to talk, and only sat with her eyes fixed on vacancy, stirring her coffee without drinking it, he would talk to his little sister. Let Röschen come with him and show him the cattle in the sheds. Had the old sow, which he had purchased from Jokisch, farrowed? And how many cows were there now?
Rosa was in a state of bliss at the thought of having her brother all to herself. She would show him everything, and she had so much to tell him. There was a foal, too, in the enclosure, such a pretty one. It was the brown mare's child, and was as brown as its mother, but it had a white star on its forehead like Mr. Jokisch's horse. She put her hand into her brother's and drew him tenderly out of the room.
Martin Becker and Mrs. Tiralla remained alone in the room. Martin would have liked to go out with them and look at the cattle--he took great interest in such things--but he had remained behind on account of shyness. The girl had not invited him, and the woman's eyes fixed him to the spot. He was not shy as a rule; anywhere else he would have said, "I want to go to the stables too." But he did not feel at home here. Why did Mikolai's stepmother look at him so penetratingly? Was she not pleased that he had come? He dared not look up, he felt her eyes resting on him the whole time. He felt hot and cold in turns. What black eyes the woman had. How stupid that the old man should get drunk now. He simply longed for Mr. Tiralla; he was quite different, he had welcomed him with such a loud laugh and given him a resounding kiss on both cheeks, just as he had done to his son.