The young men buttoned up their coats before starting for the fields. What a change in the weather! They felt chilled to the bone. Somebody might at least have made them a cup of hot coffee. But nobody appeared, and there came no answer to their soft call of "Heigh, Marianna, heigh!" The whole house was as silent as death; it was as though all life were extinct. There was nothing for it; Mikolai had to make the fire and boil the coffee himself, or they would [Pg 213] have to leave the house on that wet, sullen-looking morning without something warm to drink. Mrs. Tiralla had heard their call. She was lying on her bed with open eyes, but was unable to rise. She felt worn-out, bruised in body and mind; she had only sufficient strength left to bite her pillow, so as to suppress her sobs. "Holy Mary, wert thou asleep?" Had the angels and archangels not heard her when she called to them? He, he had come--but not the one she had prayed for. The woman clenched her fists in impotent fury, whilst her glowing cheeks burned with shame. All the aversion, all the hatred she had ever felt for her husband was nothing compared with this intense, blazing passion that raged within her. How was she to avenge herself? If only she had the poison which she, like a fool, had given back to him. Then she would have rushed downstairs and calmly, quite calmly, poured some of the white powder into his half-open mouth whilst he was lying in his bed snoring. It would have acted, she felt sure of that. The saints would not let innocent animals die, but they would look on with a smile when the devils carried Mi. Tiralla's soul off to hell. The woman uttered wild curses as she reproached herself for her stupidity. How foolish, how unutterably foolish she had been to give up those powders that could have released her. If she had had them now, she would have given ten years of her life, nay more, her hope of everlasting bliss. "Yes, take it," she groaned, starting up in bed and stretching her clenched fists towards heaven, "take it in exchange for them." Then she prayed. It was a meaningless jumble of words, for she was beside herself, but still she felt [Pg 214] somewhat calmed as she moved her lips and made the sign of the cross and hit her breast. Her thoughts dwelt on the powders as she mechanically repeated the usual prayers. Perhaps she could get them again, after all? He had put them into his writing-desk that day, she had seen him do it. True, it was always locked, but--"Blessed be the Holy Virgin and all the saints," she cried, drawing a breath of relief--but the key was on the ring in his trouser pocket. She sat down on the side of the bed, and pushing her dishevelled hair away from her distraught-looking face she groped for her slippers. It was still early; he would still be fast asleep and Rosa and Marianna, too, and Martin and Mikolai had already gone to the fields. There would be nobody to frustrate her plans this time.