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 At home, for a while after his departure, a painful silence reigned. The old man felt that he had wronged his son in his last speech and for that reason he was slightly shaken in his own stand, so firm heretofore. But Nešněra was too honest a man not to own frankly that he was at fault.

“You know, Apolenka,” he said after a moment, “Joseph did not even intend to strike you. It was only an accident—”

“But he didn’t even hurt me, father,” eagerly the wife defended him. “He just swung his arm—”.

“Well, then, praise be to God, that from that quarter the clouds are driven away,” the old man rejoiced. “Now, if only we can chase the shadows away in the other matter. But you are with me in that and you will not permit the land which bore so many Nešněras to go into a stranger’s hands. You see, Apolenka, you, too, are of peasant origin and though you were not born under this roof, you feel with me what it would mean to have our property fall into alien hands!”.

“Well, what’s up. Why are you rushing about with your eyes on top of your head, as if you were hunting a midwife?” so one of young Nešněra's friends at the inn greeted him while the others burst into merry laughter.

“Oh, nothing!” Joseph disposed of the inquisitive one peevishly. “Had a little squabble at home.”