Against the steely mirror in the twilight a long line was visible, like a distressful note of exclamation or a pause in life. It was the topmast of the "St. Barbara."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE GUARDIAN.
At six in the evening the ship's crew had left the sunken craft, and by half past seven Timar with Timéa was in Komorn. The post-cart driver knew Brazovics' house very well, and galloped his four bell-decked horses with unmerciful cracks of the whip through the little streets up to the square, as he had been promised a good trinkgeld if he brought his passengers quickly to their destination.
Michael lifted Timéa from the country wagon and told her she was now at home. Then he took the casket under his cloak and led the girl up the steps.
The house of Athanas Brazovics was of two stories—a rarity in Komorn; for in remembrance of the destructive earthquakes by which the town had been visited in the last century, people usually only built on the ground-floor. The lower story was occupied by a large café, which served the resident tradespeople as a casino; the whole upper floor was inhabited by the family of the merchant. It had two entrances from the street, and a third through the kitchen.
The owner was generally not at home at this hour, as Timar knew; he therefore led Timéa straight to the door through which the women's rooms were reached. In these reigned fashionable luxury, and in the anteroom lounged a man-servant. Timar asked him to fetch his master from the café, and meanwhile led Timéa to the ladies.
He was certainly hardly got up for company, as may be imagined when one remembers what he had gone through, and the number of times he had been soaked; but he was one of those who belonged to the house, who could come in at any time and in any dress: they looked upon him as "one of our people." In such a case one gets over the strict rules of etiquette.
The announcement revives the old habit of the mistress, as soon as the door of the anteroom is open, of putting her head through the parlor door to see who is coming. Frau Sophie has kept this habit ever since her maid-servant days. (Pardon, that slipped out by accident.) Well, yes, Herr Athanas raised her from a low station; it was a love-match, so no one has a right to reproach her.
It is therefore not as idle gossip, but only as a characteristic touch, that I mention that Frau Sophie even as "gracious lady" could not get rid of her early habit. Her clothes always fitted her as if they had been given to her by her mistress. From her coiffure an obstinate lock of hair would always stick out either in the front or at the back; even her most gorgeous costumes always looked tumbled and creased; and if nothing else went wrong, there would be invariably a pair of trodden-down shoes with which she could indulge in her old propensity. Curiosity and tattle were the ingredients of her conversation, in which she generally introduced such extraordinary expressions that when she began to scatter them in a mixed party, the guests (that is, those who were seated) almost fell off their chairs with laughter. Then, too, she had the agreeable custom of never speaking low; her voice was a continuous scream, as if she were being stabbed and wished to call for assistance.
"Oh, good Lord, it's Michael!" she cried, as soon as she got her head through the door-way. "And where did you get the pretty fraülein? What is the casket you have under your arm? Come into the parlor! Look, look, Athalie, what Timar has brought!"