Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/327

 left without saying a word. He couldn’t; if he had, it would have been something caustic.

All his anger passed away, however, when he met Lenka in the hall way. Her face was flushed, and she brightened up still more when she saw him.

“Miss Lenka, I must tell you something,” he said. Then looking around carefully, he bent over the girl and whispered something in her ear. When she raised her head, he was gone, and only the echo of his hasty, retreating steps on the stairs and on the hall way was heard.

She stood still for a moment, looking after him as if she expected an explanation; the sound of steps, however, ceased. Awakening, she stepped quickly into the parlor as when a sprightly roe springs joyfully and disappears in the deep foliage.

And indeed she felt like skipping and shouting.

As long as Špína’s uncle lived, it was well with the student. But his benefactor died, and the student, who had neither parents, nor friends, nor wealth, was compelled to gain his livelihood by giving lessons. He had just returned from one of these lessons, and immediately reached for his pipe, that he might have a little smoke along with his work. Just then he stopped suddentlysuddenly [sic] at the partly open door, as if glued to the spot. He felt that for a moment he could not breathe, and his knees shook. He could not, even for a ducat, say a single word that moment, His eyes were intently looking through the opening into Miss Elis’ room, from whence the clear, ringing voice, which so greatly frightened the philosopher, had come.

He saw Miss Márinka there, the daughter of the landlady, a girl of well-rounded, smiling countenance, and as fresh as a dewy blossom. She was dressed “just plain”, for at home: white apron, short skirt and low slippers were charmingly becoming her.

“I came just for a word. The philosophers are not at home—.”

“They’re giving lessons,” rejoined Miss Elis, not knowing that Špína had returned.

“I could not stand it any longer; I thought that you, Miss Elis, probably know the best—.”

“What is it, Miss Márinka?”

“It is rumored that we shall have ‘majales’—oh, would not that be a joy!”

The watching philosopher saw how the young girl clapped her hands like a pleased child and how her eyes sparkled. How pretty she was, how charming!

All he had to do now was to step out, and the chance for which he longed, offered itself to him. He could answer her question, and thus ingratiate himself; but, as usual, he could not overcome his timidity. He longed, from the bottom of his heart he longed to speak to her, but how should he begin? She was gay and roguish, and he was afraid that somehow she might playfully taunt him. How many times already had he stopped, and even opened his mouth to begin a conversation with her, but always checked himself. Now he could begin splendidly. She asked a question; he would step out and answer.—His heart beat furiously. God! Could he speak to her face to face? Could he look into those shining, roguish eyes?—But it must be done sometime—only a little while longer—until Miss Elis replies.

“Oh, my dear Miss Márinka, those philosophers have perpetrated such rebellion that nothing will come of it probably.”

Špína breathed heavily, and was about to seize the door-knob in order to step out, when suddenly the door of the other parlor flew open, and in rushed Frýbort, that bold, insolent Frýbort.—It was all over! Špína’s hand fell. He could not take his stand beside that wag! He had no courage for that; he know he would get the worst of it. Bitterness and jealousy infected his heart. He was still watching, and had no witness how startled Miss Márinka was, and how she blushed with surprise.

“It is lucky that you came, Mr. Frýbort,” Miss Elis greeted him, and repeated Miss Márinka’s question.

“The glorious ‘majales’ are not permitted, but since you wish them, I will make them for you, and they shall be just as noisy and jolly as in the former years.”

“We shall see how almighty you are!”

“Let us bet. What will you bet?”

“If you lose, I shall give you a bouquet of nettles.”

“And if I win, a bouquet of violets like those — —,” and he stopped with a meaning look.

“Very well, a bouquet,” Márinka quickly interrupted, and looked shyly at Miss Elis. The remembrance of that kiss which FrybortFrýbort [sic] had stolen from her on the stairs awoke a crimson shadow of that blush which then flushed her smooth face.

Špína felt as if he were in a bush of briars. That Hanák could turn everything to his advantage—what will he not think of! The jealous philosopher was now pleased that Márinka presently took her leave and slipped out of the room; her mother was calling her home.

When, soon afterward, Frýbort entered his room, he ran into Špína, who was rushing out somewhere.

“Where in such a hurry?”

But an unintelligible growl was the only answer.

The evening before the holiday of Saints Philip and James came. It was a very pleasant evening, although without the light of the heavenly luminaries. In place of those, however, innumerable bon-fires flared up on the heights of Polička by the woods of Strakov. The whole country, which was wrapping itself in its dusky, my-