The two children burst into tears, feeling as at church during a sermon. And Yagna’s heart throbbed with dread, and a deep blush overspread her face; she knew those words were meant for her, and as soon as Matthias returned she left the room, without daring to raise her eyes to the priest. “I should like to have a talk with you, Matthias,” he said, when they were alone together. Motioning him to a seat by his side, he cleared his throat, offered him snuff, used a beautifully scented pocket-handkerchief, and, making his finger-joints crack one after another, began quietly: “I have heard—yes, Matthias, I have heard of what took place in the tavern not long ago.” “Aye, indeed,” the old farmer returned, with a pained look; “it was public enough, to be sure.” “Do not go to the tavern, and do not take your womenfolk thither: how often have I forbidden it! I wear my lungs out in beseeching you.... No use!—Well, ye have received what you deserved.—Nevertheless, I thank God most heartily that in all this there has been no very grievous sin. I repeat: no grievous sin.” “None?” Boryna’s face brightened: he did not distrust the priest. “But I have also been told that you are punishing your wife very severely for what has happened. This is not just, and injustice is a sin. A sin.” “How’s that? I am only holding her in with a tighter hand. I am only....” Here the priest interrupted him, saying excitedly: “Antek, not she, was at fault! It was to spite you that he forced her to dance with him; evidently he wanted a scene. A scene.” Of this he felt quite sure: Dominikova, in whom he reposed much confidence, had given him her account of things.—“What else had I to say to you?—Ah, yes! Your filly wanders loose about the stable. You must tie her up, else one of the horses may injure her with a kick. Last year I had my mare lamed that way.... Whose is her sire?” “The miller’s.” “I was sure of it—knew it by her colour and the white spot on her forehead.—A fine filly!—But, as to Antek now: you and he should be reconciled: your disagreement is driving that young fellow to evil ways.” “I did not begin the quarrel,” Boryna replied with decision, “and I am not going to beg him to end it.” “The advice I give you it is my duty as a priest to give. As to taking it, follow what your own conscience says. Only mark this well: he is going to his destruction, and you let him go. He drinks continually in the tavern, is a fire-brand among the young men, incites them to revolt against their elders, and—as I hear—is plotting harm to the manor folk.” “Of that I knew nothing.” “One tainted sheep infects the flock. And these plots against the manor may result in great evil to the village people.” But on this point Boryna was doggedly mute; so the priest changed the subject, and said finally: