But the words "little Böhnke" did not have the usual effect on the schoolmaster, for he felt sorry for the man. Besides, he wanted to know, he must know, how far it had gone with Mrs. Tiralla and Becker. You could not believe all the gossip of the inn, but he would get at the truth from the man himself, the husband who had been insulted and deceived. So after Mr. Tiralla had stumbled several times, Böhnke took hold of his arm. "Do let me accompany you," he said in an anxious, friendly voice. "All right then," he growled. The man's solicitude did him good after all. Besides, what had he to fear from little Böhnke? He was pale and humble, pleased when you left him in peace, and did nobody any harm. So Mr. Tiralla put up with the schoolmaster's company and they walked together like father and son. And when they came to the farm gate he did not even object to his going still further with him. "Come along, little Böhnke," he said, "come into my room. Marianna shall fetch us something out of the cellar; I've got the key. Then we two will have a drink by ourselves." * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was a long sitting. It had been early in the afternoon when they came from Starawies, now it was almost evening. During all those hours the house had been as quiet as though not a single soul, as though not even a mouse were there. And still every time a glass was put on the table with more noise than usual Mr. Tiralla had hastily put his finger to his lips, "Sh!" He had drawn nearer and nearer to his friend as he [Pg 224] whispered to him. For the schoolmaster was his friend, and it did him good to have such a friend. Did little Böhnke know what a mouse felt like when it was being enticed into a trap with bacon? Oh, his wife was kind to him now, she was so bright, and smiled the whole day long. She would even have brought him something to drink with her own hands if he had asked for it, she who had formerly turned up her nose and said, "Pooh! you stink!" if he had only drunk one small glass. But who could trust her? "For listen, little Böhnke"--Mr. Tiralla put his arm round the other man's neck and breathed into his ear with trembling voice--"listen! she's laying a trap for me. And when I'm dead, my friend--sh!"--he clapped his hand over the other man's mouth as he was about to jump up--"be quiet. You mustn't betray me, hold your tongue. And when I'm dead, then, oh then----" Mr. Tiralla could not speak any more. He hiccoughed and sobbed, for he had already drunk a great deal, and then, putting his head on the table, he began to weep.