Mr. Tiralla stood pondering gloomily, his brows contracted. He did not think much as a rule, but to-day he had fallen into a reverie. He could not recover his good humour, even after he had put the last nail into the wreath with Rosa, and when she went to a sewing class in the village--she no longer went to school--he felt quite forlorn. Nothing was to be seen of Mrs. Tiralla; nobody knew what had become of her. So he sat down in the kitchen with the maid--he could not stand being alone--and told her to fetch him something to drink. She had not got the key of the wine cellar, as the Pani kept it, and there was no wine out. But Mr. [Pg 177] Tiralla put his back firmly against the lattice door. It yielded to his strength and flew open, and in the future it was to remain so. Marianna triumphantly dragged one bottle after the other upstairs. It was not yet ten o'clock in the morning when Mr. Tiralla had finished the first bottle of Tokay. But even that did not improve his temper. By eleven o'clock the second bottle had been emptied; but his temper was no better, his head was only heavier. It would have to be gin if he wanted to be in a good humour--real Geneva, which looked as clear as water in the glass. When they sat down to dinner Mr. Tiralla ate nothing, his appetite had vanished, but he told them to bring him some beer. Rosa did not eat anything either, she was too happy to eat. She jumped up every moment from her chair to see what time it was. Was it not yet time to fetch her dear brother? Mrs. Tiralla also came to dinner, but only for a moment. Her eyes were very red, like those of a person who has wept very much, or who feels worn-out. She said she had a great deal to do still, and had no time whatever for dinner, and ran into the kitchen again almost immediately, where she began to mix flour and lard, break eggs, grate sugar, pound spices, and stone raisins. She intended welcoming her son with a fresh cake, warm from the oven, his favourite cake. That touched Mr. Tiralla. When he got into the carriage with Rosa--she jumped up like a bird, but he found difficulty in getting to his seat--his face looked brighter. His lip, which was blue and swollen, no longer drooped so much that it almost touched his chin. Rosa had swung herself on to the front seat next to [Pg 178] her father, and now and then she would take hold of his arm and press it, or poll his ear or stroke his fat, bristly cheek, so that he could not drive. But even if she had not played all these pranks in her great happiness his driving would not have been up to much, for he began to feel the effects of the wine and beer on an empty stomach. He would have liked to sleep; his head fell first to the one side and then to the other, and his eye was no longer steady. He, who generally drove as straight as anybody, could not keep a bee-line to-day.