“No harm in that. Go on, please,” urged the companion once more.
“Well, in the priest’s parlour there were present Štambera, Heavens, and spinster Naninka. It was the delightful season of plum-dumplings. Naninka stood at the pastry-board and made ‘nudels.’”
Here the doctor’s wife burst out laughing, till the tears stood in her eyes. The doctor, seeing that he made such an effect, stroked his thick beard complacently, and went on.
“Well, as I said, Naninka was making nudels.” He spoke like an epic poet, quietly and seriously. “Heavens said to Štambera, ‘My dear fellow, stay with us to dinner. You have come a good step on foot, and must be hungry. We have nudel-soup and plum-dumplings to-day.’
“Štambera did not answer immediately, but kept staring at Naninka. You must know that this worthy spinster is very fond of an odorous pinch of snuff.
“Good-natured Father Cvok insisted upon the visitor’s staying to dinner by all means. Štambera, never taking his eyes off Naninka, suddenly started up and said, ‘If you tore my coat off me, I cannot possibly stay to dinner.’
“Heavens, not having the least idea of his real reason for not staying, answered almost crossly, Well, if you must go, go then, by all means!’
“Štambera did go, and what he saw in Záluz̓í that day he did not consider exactly in the light of a confessional secret.”
Both ladies laughed heartily, and the doctor, satisfied with the result of his story, made himself scarce, and disappeared into his own room.
One day, about three weeks later, Jenny came again to pay a visit at the doctor’s, and there made the personal
