By this time only two dogs were howling in the courtyard below.
Pirka smiled, and began to arch her eyebrows.
"His reverence will be here almost immediately," said she.
And now only a single dog was howling through the night.
The storm, too, furiously shook the window-casements.
Suddenly the last dog ceased barking.
Pirka blinked, and said:
"The master will soon be here now."
During these odd scenes, Michal consoled herself with the reflection that the whole thing would be over in a day. Even the last day and the last night of a condemned felon must come to an end. Let them once get over this unpleasant day and they would go right away. They would have a home of their own, a quiet, peaceful parsonage all to themselves, with a large flower garden and a dove-cot.
Barbara Pirka had prophesied rightly. Soon after the last dog had quite ceased howling a man's step was heard approaching the door of the bedroom. Pirka murmured an incantation in the gipsy tongue over Michal, which might have been a blessing for all that Michal knew to the contrary. Then the old woman withdrew.