Page:Halek's Stories and Evensongs.pdf/362

 “Expecting me! Well, well, well, well.”

Then he took Vena by the hand and said, “Thou wise man, do not trot me out to make a fool of me, and tell me, is it safe to cross the court-yard?”

“I am sent for you, pantata, and I have to conduct you wherever you please—to the pension house or the farmhouse; but our good old mistress is in the farmhouse, and, therefore, I might perhaps have conducted you to the farmhouse.”

“Ha! then, lead me to the farmhouse”, said Loyka, and he said it just as though he had by this confirmed his own death-warrant, which it was impossible now to avoid. And, even as the wretch condemned to die, just before his death, dares to implore some favour for himself, so old Loyka implored, “You hear, Vena, I am going into the farmhouse; but first, lead me yonder, to the chambers by the coach-house, that I may gaze upon those spirits who there await my spirit.”

And he hung on Vena’s arm, and Vena led him to the spot. When they caught sight of him a flourish of trumpets rang forth. Then the family of the kalounkar came out upon the door-step, the cloth-pedlar, several tinkers, and, in a word, all whoever just then were lodging under that roof, and all said, “We welcome you, pantata; we have already been expecting you.” And when old Loyka hardly recognized those figures by the scanty light of a candle, his head went round, so that he scarcely attended to what they were saying.

“Vena, let me not stay here any longer. Good lad, now I have seen it, now lead me to the farmhouse.”

When he departed, a flourish of music again rang forth, and Loyka, staggering, and leaning upon Vena, reeled towards his house. And when he was already not far from the threshold, he said, “Only bend thyself, proud tongue, and pray. Harsh words, swaddle yourselves in silk, be soft and meek, be very meek and soft, ay, as soft as the droppings of birds!” And here already some one stood on the door-step and said, “I welcome you, tatinka; we have been expecting you.”

He who pronounced these words was not Joseph; it was Frank.

And here motes seemed to flicker before Loyka’s eyes, and after a minute or two, Bartos, Vena, and Frank carried him into the farmhouse.

They laid him on his bed, for the strain upon his nerves had been too great, and he had fainted. He breathed. He opened