Page:Halek's Stories and Evensongs.pdf/176

 bell, and scarcely had its first tones trembled away on the air, when the patter of little feet could be heard trotting rather than running to the door. The door opened in a twinkling and at one side stood a little boy about six years of age, at the other a little girl about eight years old. These children clapped their hands and crying, “Pan Vojtech! Pan Vojtech!” took Pan Vojtech each by one hand and led him along the passage and through the kitchen to their lesson-room.

Here the little boy sat on his knee, the little girl on one side and they repeated some popular song or favourite popular ballad, then they read aloud one of the German fairy-tales, and repeated as much of it afterwards as they could remember. The children amused rather than tasked themselves, laughed more than seriously did lessons, played more than worked. When the hour was over, they were surprised to find it was so soon over, and it was certain that they were merrier as they led Pan Vojtech to the schoolroom than when they quitted him.

When their little feet trotted off, Vojtech still remained seated and fixed his eyes on the door. After a short time light steps, but not those of a child, approached the door, and any one who had watched Vojtech’s face as the first light rustling greeted him, would have noticed that he trembled slightly as he listened, that he grew pale, and that he had to put some constraint upon himself in order to appear indifferent and unperturbed. At the door entered a girl with a winning countenance. She must have been somewhat more than fourteen years of age, and was still more a child than a young lady, but in her gait, her face and figure there was more of womanly dignity than of childish playfulness.

They greeted one another almost in silence. The girl took a seat opposite Vojtech and Vojtech had to harangue her about history, geography, and so-called “belles-lettres”. He lectured. But it was wonderful how he began. His words resounded like the song of a desolate bird and often he could not connect them into intelligible sentences. The pallid countenance, the strange shivering before the girl entered, seemed now to have been transferred to his language; it was colourless, halting, vague.

His throat was husky, a word had often to make several efforts before it was pronounced. His tongue and lips seemed glued together and if we may speak of winged words in this place it was just as though a bird-catcher had limed his words and smeared their wings with glue. And yet he had to hand a plentiful supply that plied their wings in full chorus: he had only to stretch out