He obeyed her. What else was there for him to do if his dear little wife was so anxious to get home? "Women are amorous little doves," he lisped, "they always want to be going home to their nests." Laying his arm heavily round her neck he stammered caressingly, "Yes, yes, I'm coming, my dove, only have patience." And then he gave such a sly wink with his glassy eyes that the men broke into a laugh, which resembled nothing so much as a horse whinnying. Mrs. Tiralla had shrunk back. A wave of burning [Pg 103] colour mounted to her pale face. Oh, if he treated her in that way, was it surprising that they all ran after her like that? But they should not imagine that she was ready to cast herself into the arms of the first man who came along--far from it. Throwing her head back with a curt, scornful movement, and restraining her tears with the utmost strength of will, she said, forcibly jerking out every word, for she could hardly speak, her lips trembled so, "You can lie on the threshold, as you've done before, you braggart!" Now the laugh was on her side. They were all delighted to think that Mr. Tiralla had been reprimanded in that way. Why did he brag like that? They also found favour with the ladies, but they didn't boast of it in that way. What did this vulgar peasant want with such a dainty little wife? A milkmaid would have been good enough for him. They all applauded the little woman, who seemed to have grown a head taller, she held herself so erect. But when Mr. Schmielke, who now hoped to win the prize, bent his knee and said jokingly, "_Padam da nog!_" and then, stroking his moustache in his usual challenging way, added, "Allow me to see you home," she stared at him for a moment. And when he smiled at her with all the impertinence which the wine and the advanced hour, the spectators' goading looks, and the conviction of his own irresistibility had given him, she administered such a violent, resounding box on his ears that he and all the others started back. She rushed out of the cloak-room and across the passage to the front door, and, standing on the pavement which the downtrodden straw had made still dirtier, she shouted for her carriage. She was weeping. The wind had veered round in the early morning, [Pg 104] and was blowing from the west, as she stood in the deserted market-place. Large flakes of watery snow were being driven along before the wind, and clung to her cheeks and mingled with the hot drops from her eyes. Oh, how she would have liked to lie down there in the dirt and die! That beautiful ball! Alas, there would never be any more pleasure for her where her husband was. How he had made a laughing-stock of her before them all. And he had lied into the bargain. The carriage had not come yet; she stood trembling with cold and grief. She clenched her hands; she would do it quite, quite alone now, if she couldn't find anybody to help her.