He had closed the window and he now closed the shutters too. A gleam of prudence had returned; what would people think if they saw her in his room at that hour? He drew her to the old sofa, and she [Pg 257] let him do so; he ventured to kiss her and she allowed him to do that too. Something rose within her; in her shame and anguish she longed to thrust him back, but--she had need of him, she had need of him. She held her breath so as not to smell his. She suffered him to kiss her, her lips tightly compressed, but when he drew nearer and nearer to her in his intoxication she repulsed him. Then she recollected that she would have to put up with it, for she dared not offend him, she must bind him to her. She tried to find an excuse for her repulse; had he not deceived her once before with the dish of mushrooms? Could she really trust him again? He swore solemnly that she could, glowing with desire. Then she said, "Pan Tiralla must die, and you, you must help me." "I--I?" he stammered, all at once sober. He was sorry for the man, he had been punished enough. Why should he die? She did not notice his hesitation. "You must drink with him," she whispered hastily; "drink every day with him at our house, so that he drinks more, much more than he does now. He doesn't drink enough at present. You must be with him, you must fill his glass without his noticing it, you must entertain him the whole time, tell him what he likes to hear, put him in a good humour by saying, 'Your health!' and 'Much good may it do you!' so that he goes on drinking and drinking. You must help me in this way." She looked at him imploringly. He avoided her eyes; no, he could not do that, he did not like to. Mr. Tiralla was rather fond of him, but how much did she care for him, eh? Not _so_ much. He snapped his fingers in her face. She preferred [Pg 258] another man, Becker; oh, he knew it very well, and that was the reason things were not going quickly enough for her. No, he would not give her a helping hand to that, never, never, he panted, excited to fury by his passionate jealousy, and let his hand fall with a bang on the table, "Never!" She trembled and seized hold of his clenched hand; she must win him, he must help her, he had no right to refuse her his help, what should she do then? Thoughts flew like lightning through her brain; the first of December, the first of December, oh, Martin would run away from her much earlier than that, he was even now like a young bird trying its wings, and she would soon not be able to hold him any longer. Martin, Böhnke--Böhnke, Martin, all ran together. She could not think clearly, she was beside herself with terror. She threw her arms round the schoolmaster's neck and, putting her lips close to his ear, sobbed, "You must, you must, I implore you!"