Her father had often spoken to her about an out-at-elbow vagrant student, whom the scholars derisively nicknamed Simplex, and who had wrought much mischief there with his music by enticing the sons of the Muses away from their studies thereby. Kalondai, in particular, had to thank this fellow for the corruption of his morals, in fact they were hand and glove. Besides that, Simplex was a low fellow, who had not been ashamed to serve a twelve months' apprenticeship with the civic trumpeter of Zeb, and since then had spent all his time in gadding about the country as an itinerant musician, earning a penny here and a penny there at wedding feasts and such like riotous entertainments. All this the learned professor had told his daughter in high dudgeon; but what a comfort it was to her that she knew it now. From the fact that she heard all her favorite songs played one after the other in the courtyard below, she drew the following conclusion: If Simplex has come hither, it is only because Kalondai sent him. If he is staying here, it is certainly only because he wants to find out something about me. When he discovers what my position is, he will return to his bosom friend and tell him everything.
And the thought consoled her.
For hours and hours she listened in the beautiful moonlight to the well-known melancholy strains, which her serving-maids used to sing when they heard the field-trumpet's blare outside. She, too, had now and again hummed "The Hunter's Song," or "The Polish Lay of the Three Hundred Widows," with its ghostly finale supposed to represent the Dance of Death.
Simplex played these airs very prettily. Michal could have listened to him all night.
Early in the morning Pirka appeared, and brought her the wine posset spiced with cloves, cinnamon, and muscat-nut.
While she was sipping it, Michal angrily asked: "Who is that tiresome man who keeps on blowing his trumpet all night in the courtyard below?"
She was already learning to be sly. It is ever so with women. Treat them with tenderness and affection, and they are as gentle as doves and speak straight out what they think. But just bully, offend, or persecute them, and they become as crafty as serpents. No one teaches them deceit, and yet they are masters in it. Then they think before they speak, and their tongues say one thing and their hearts another.
So that was why Michal complained so angrily about that tiresome man. She knew by instinct that the best way to keep him in the house was to complain of him.
"Oh, my darling!" said Barbara Pirka, "don't say that! He is my trumpeter, quite a superior young man, I assure you."