When Christian Catsrider felt the kiss of the young bride on his hand, he hissed three times like one who has been seared with a red-hot iron.
But when Henry also would have approached him, the old man stretched out his long arm, and laying his hand on his son's shoulder forced him back into his seat with as much force as if he had used a heavy iron lever for the purpose.
It was only to Michal that the old man spoke.
"So this tender creature has not come hither to see the horrors of an execution after all? I am glad of it. On such occasions there are generally more women present than men, ay, and young women too! What's her name? Michal—and this fellow—Henry! Ah!"
With that he rose from the table.
But Michal still held his iron hand in her hands, and clasping it tightly with her fingers softly whispered grace, the old man turning his head aside all the time. Then he drew his hand out of Michal's hands, but as she still kept kneeling at his feet as if expecting something more, the old man let his long sleeve fall right over his hands till the very tips of his fingers were covered, and then he laid them gently on Michal's head so that that innocent head might not be polluted by the touch of his bare hand.
Then Michal arose from her knees.
But the master did not extend his hand to his son. On the contrary, when the housekeeper entered to clear the table, he told her to leave it alone for the present, and first of all conduct the gentle lady to her room, make her a comfortable bed, lay her down in it and lull her gently to sleep. "The reverend gentleman," he added, "will remain behind with me, for I've a couple of words to say to him."
Michal thanked him for his courtesy, and holding out her hand to her husband, asked him shyly:
"I suppose you will come soon?"