Why Frau Frohmann Raised Her Prices, and Other StoriesTrollope, Anthony
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Why Frau Frohmann Raised Her Prices, and Other Stories
Trollope, Anthony
English fiction -- 19th century; Manners and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
As these thoughts passed quickly through her mind, leaning over him in
the dark, with her eye fixed on the mixture lest it should slip, she
gently raised his flowing beard with her left hand, and with her other
inverted rapidly, steadily but very softly fixed the handkerchief on his
throat. From the bottom of his chin to the spot at which the collar
bones meeting together form the orifice of the chest it covered the
whole noble expanse. There was barely time for a glance, but never had
she been more conscious of the grand proportions of that manly throat. A
sweet feeling of pity came upon her, causing her to determine to relieve
his sufferings in the shorter space of fifteen minutes. He had been
lying on his back, with his lips apart, and, as she held back his beard,
that and her hand nearly covered the features of his face. But he made
no violent effort to free himself from the encounter. He did not even
move an arm or a leg. He simply emitted a snore louder than any that had
come before. She was aware that it was not his wont to be so loud--that
there was generally something more delicate and perhaps more querulous
in his nocturnal voice, but then the present circumstances were
exceptional. She dropped the beard very softly--and there on the pillow
before her lay the face of a stranger. She had put the mustard plaster
on the wrong man.
Not Priam wakened in the dead of night, not Dido when first she learned
that Æneas had fled, not Othello when he learned that Desdemona had been
chaste, not Medea when she became conscious of her slaughtered children,
could have been more struck with horror than was this British matron as
she stood for a moment gazing with awe on that stranger’s bed. One
vain, half-completed, snatching grasp she made at the handkerchief, and
then drew back her hand. If she were to touch him would he not wake at
once, and find her standing there in his bedroom? And then how could she
explain it? By what words could she so quickly make him know the
circumstances of that strange occurrence that he should accept it all
before he had said a word that might offend her? For a moment she stood
all but paralyzed after that faint ineffectual movement of her arm. Then
he stirred his head uneasily on the pillow, opened wider his lips, and
twice in rapid succession snored louder than before. She started back a
couple of paces, and with her body placed between him and the candle,
with her face averted, but with her hand still resting on the foot of
the bed, she endeavoured to think what duty required of her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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