The light was still faint and the air was cold, bitterly cold. A hard frost had come at daybreak, the first that year, and had touched everything with its blighting finger. The pools in the unpaved yard, from which as a rule the rain, dirty water, and melted snow flowed in rivulets to the big pond in the centre, were now united and formed a single white mirror. The house was still dark and quiet. Marianna's eyes twinkled; aha, they were all still asleep. Good! [Pg 308] then none of them had heard that she had only come home at six that morning. She had not been up to her room yet to take her best dress off, but it would not harm it, even if she were to wear it whilst milking for once. Hark! how the cows were lowing. They were waiting impatiently. But how they would stare when they saw her in her beautiful, new, red dress, with its many pleats, which she had got on purpose to do the thing in grand style with Jendrek, and her spick-and-span new shoes, in which she had danced last night for the first time. The vain girl tittered as she skipped into the stables where the cattle were lowing dully. "Quiet, quiet there," she said, groping about for the lantern in order to light it, as it was still rather dark. "Yes, yes, here she is, here's Marianna. _Psia krew_, hold your tongues." At that moment the lantern cast a light around. "Good God!" Breaking off in the midst of her chatter, the servant let the milk pails fall to the ground with a shrill scream. Why, the master was lying there! She stood as though rooted to the spot. Oh dear, how frightened she had been. What was he doing there? What did he mean by going to sleep there, and frightening people who came unsuspectingly into the stables out of their wits? "Panje, Panje Tiralla," she called. "Do get up, _gospodarz!_" She had come up to him now; he did not move. She gave him a slight push with the point of her new shoe; how tipsy he was. "Wake up, master," she said. "Finish your sleep in bed, I'll help you into it." What pleasant dreams he was having. It seemed to her that there was a smile on his face. She bent over him. "Panje, Paniczek!" She [Pg 309] looked at him a little more closely, she felt him--then she began to scream so that the walls resounded with it; she mingled her screams with the lowing of the cattle that had started afresh; she screamed still louder, so that she dominated the lowing, screamed so that it sounded across the yard to the sleeping house like a trumpet. Mr. Tiralla was icy-cold; he was dead. She tore her hair and behaved as though she were mad--her master, her good master! Then rushing out of the stables and across the yard she shouted and shrieked, "Pani, Pani, help! Help, Mr. Mikolai!"