She called to a waiter who was running past in a short black jacket and a white apron spotted with gravy, and sent him back to her husband. Would Mr. Tiralla kindly tell them to bring the carriage round, it was time to be going? The cocks were already crowing in the little yards behind the labourers' cottages. She remained standing in the cloak-room, gloomily gnawing her Up, with Mariechen, who was still sobbing on account of her blouse, as her companion. She had hidden herself behind the clothes-rack, nobody would discover her there. Vain hope! Scarcely had the waiter given the message than the whole flock of her partners came rushing in. Sophia Tiralla wanted to go--go away now? But they wouldn't let her go, even if they had to make a wall of their bodies before the door. Ziëntek wrung his hands in despair; if she went away the whole cotillon would be spoilt, that up-to-date cotillon with all those bouquets. They discovered her and brought her out from behind the rack. They begged, flattered, teased, threatened, and swore loudly that they wouldn't let her go, she would have to remain and dance. "Of course she'll stop and dance!" bawled Mr. Tiralla from the doorway leading into the ballroom. What, he as well? No, she wouldn't stop, not even a quarter of an hour longer, hissed the woman like a serpent that has been trodden on. "Tell the carriage to come round," she said to the waiter in a curt, shrill voice. Then, without looking at her husband, she [Pg 102] added, "I'm going. If you don't want to go, you can stop. I'm going." Mr. Tiralla looked very discomfited; but then he grew angry. What, to be so horrid to him before all those people? A wife had to obey. He was the one who had to decide. He was very drunk, or it would never have occurred to him to oppose his wife's wishes in this way. And that was what made him now shout, "Confound you, woman! You shall not drive; for I intend stopping here as long as I choose--until six, seven, or eight o'clock, if I choose." "Stop," she said icily, but her eyes glowed. "Then I'll walk." No, she couldn't do that, surely she wouldn't do that. That would be quite impossible through _that_ snow. But she did not listen to her admirers' persuasions; she tore her fur cloak down from the peg and threw her shawl over her head. She felt that if they did not let her go she would burst into tears--into loud, hopeless tears. She stamped her foot defiantly; why did they all stare at her with such stupid, glassy eyes? And Mr. Tiralla, was he already asleep? "_Dalej!_" she said curtly, and her voice sounded like the cut of a whip, "_dalej!_"