Landolin

The farmer's wife lay perfectly quiet. She felt chilly, but she begged the family to go to church; for the bells were just ringing.

Landolin went, and not without great self-satisfaction. To be sure, it was not a difficult matter to deceive his confiding wife; but Thoma had received a hit at the same time. She deserved it for her obstinate hard-heartedness; for of course she must know in what direction the praise of Peter led.

Thoma stayed with her mother, who prayed quietly.

CHAPTER LVII

Up the same road over which Landolin had passed the night after the celebration, now came, on this clear autumn Sunday, the judge's wife. A scoffer, who knew her thoughts, might have said to her: Not the intoxication of wine alone makes a man talk to himself, and changes his view of everything; and, worse still, the recovery from an over-indulgence in exciting thought is, perhaps, even bitterer.

This might have been said, and still the lady would not have stopped in her walk. Obeying a voice from within and not from without, she felt that she ought no longer delay in an effort to establish peace and quietness in Landolin's house, and peace between them and Cushion-Kate. She knew right well, for she had often enough experienced it, that a man sets little value on unsolicited help; yes, even frequently refuses it. But she also knew that her advice, even when repulsed, had had effect, and worked for good; and, above all things, she felt herself within the circle of the duties that spring from the union of man to man. As in war the wounded is no enemy, so in peace the sufferer is no stranger.

So the lady went up the hill. The church bells were ringing for the noon-day service; but in her ears rang the sound of a bell whose metal was not yet molten, and for which, who knows when a tower will be built!

The lady's thoughts by no means hovered in the so-called "higher regions" – quite the reverse. She thought of the nearest and most every-day subjects.

As she stood by the road, she saw a four-horse spring-wagon coming down the hill on a trot. A cow, grazing by the wayside, sprang, frightened, into the middle of the road, and ran along before the wagon, terrified, and with difficulty; at last the coachman rose in his seat, and hit her with his long whip, so that she turned aside, stood awhile, staring after the dust-enveloped monster with the four horses, and then went on grazing.

Smilingly the lady thought that this might be given as an example to the villagers. Turn aside, and you will be free from fear of what comes rolling behind you, threatening destruction.

But one must not give country-folk an illustration from their own immediate surroundings. Clergymen understand this; or perhaps hold by tradition that only strange, powerful figures have any effect. This is why they so like to speak of the storm-tossed ship on the sea, of the palmy oases in the desert; when neither they, nor their hearers, have ever seen either.

Engaged in these thoughts, Madam Pfann had reached the plateau, and came in sight of Landolin's house. The shingled roof glittered in the mid-day sun, and the tree on the east side was standing full of nuts.

Although Landolin, who was sitting on the bench before the house, saw the lady coming, he did not move, but kept on cracking nuts in his hand, and shelling out the kernels. Not until she had drawn very near did he rise and say:

"Good-day, Madam. Will you not rest here a little while?"

"Yes; I was just coming to see you."

"May I ask what news you bring me?"

"Properly speaking, none. Or perhaps-I hope-

"Well! what is it?"

"I would like to talk with you in the house; not here."

"My wife, I'm sorry to say, is sick. It's nothing serious, but she might wake up."

"Then take me to the upper room."

"If you wish, why not? But are you not afraid to be alone with a murderer?"

"You must not say that word again; and no one else must. I hope to root out even the thought of it from every mind."

"You'll have to use witchcraft," thought Landolin; but nevertheless he wondered what the lady had to say.

When the two rose, Peter came from behind the nut-tree. It was strange, one met Peter everywhere. It seemed as though he had come out of the wall, or through the steps. Without paying any attention to the fact that his sudden appearance must be surprising, Peter said, very submissively:

"Madam does us great honor in coming to see us. Great folks know what is the proper thing to do. They are the best, after all."

Landolin opened his eyes wide at hearing Peter talk thus. "Where has the boy learned it all?" The lady, too, looked at him in astonishment; but Peter went on composedly:

"Madam, my father keeps no secrets from me. May I not know what news you bring us?"

With these words Peter fixed his eyes sternly upon his father, that he might not be able to give the lady the slightest sign, even with his eye. But the judge's wife helped him out, for she replied:

"What I wish or bring is for your father alone; but I am heartily glad that you and your father are in such unison. A child that is not good to his parents never prospers in this world."

Peter chuckled. It is delicious how every one dissembles. Of course the lady knows how he and his father stand toward one another, and yet she plays the hypocrite. He laughed again and again until his father said to him:

"Send something for the lady to eat and drink to the upper room; but don't wake your mother."

As Landolin and Madam Pfann went up the stairs, Landolin stepped as lightly as the lady.

In the upper room, where Thoma's outfit was stored, the air was close. The judge's wife quickly opened the window, and then turned to Landolin, and looked at him with the clear, friendly glance before which harshness and obduracy seemed always to disappear. Wherever she came, she diffused peace and calmness and noble graciousness.

A maid-servant brought food and drink.

Landolin went to the doors to see that no one was listening, and then said, with a modest politeness that was quite new for him:

"Pray be seated on the sofa; and permit me now to ask what you have to tell me?"

CHAPTER LVIII

"Mr. Ex-Bailiff," began the lady.

"Please say simply Landolin, without the Mr. or ex-bailiff."

"Well then, Landolin, a while ago you said a word which I will not repeat. You said it in derision, in anger and vexation. Landolin, you are acquitted, but I wish that you would acquit yourself, and that you can do to-day, to me, by my help."

"Madam, I went to confession to-day, to the priest, at church."

"Very well. I don't mix myself in church affairs; but I see in your eyes, I see in your heart, that you have a feeling like one who strives to hide a secret sorrow, and thinks that it is not seen. You do not feel yourself free, and clear, and at ease."

The veins in Landolin's forehead swelled in anger, but the lady looked steadily into his face as though he were a wild animal that could be tamed by a firm, unwavering look. His eyelids rose and fell quickly, his tightly compressed lips quivered, and his hand that lay on the table clenched nervously.

"I know what you want to say," said the lady, quickly; "you have a right to do so: only say right out that I must leave your house; that I had no right to force myself into your home, or into your heart. Only say it, and I will go."

"No, stay. You are a brave woman, I must say. I should not have thought it possible, never, – a woman! Speak without fear. From such a woman as you I will hear anything. I think there can be but one such as you in the world."

The lady blushed, and for hardly longer than a thought takes the flattery disconcerted her, and seemed to turn her from her course.

Landolin perceived this momentary confusion, and smiled triumphantly. "After all, she's only a woman, and, like every woman, can be bought with dress and praise!"

Controlling herself quickly, the lady resumed, with a tone that came from her inmost soul:

"Landolin, men are put in the world together that one may help another-"