him presently; he was to wait here," Magda brought word a few minutes later.
Filip received the message with an apathetic stare, and then seemed to forget her presence.
Magda was a lively girl, and always inclined for conversation, but she felt uncomfortably awed in presence of this severe-looking man, and did not venture to ask him, as she would much have liked to do, whether there was nothing new in the village below, and whether it were true that old Katinka, the priest's house-keeper, had been taken ill with the cholera.
A little later Madame Wolska appeared on the verandah, looking serenely handsome in her loose dressing-gown, refreshed by her night's slumber, and with a healthy appetite for her breakfast.
"You have come for the packing-case," she said after a moment, seeing that he did not speak.
"I came," he said, clearing his throat, and speaking as though with difficulty — "I came to ask the gracious lady whether she would let me have the other case as well." The other one — the one with the peas. I should require both cases — the one with the apples and the one with the peas."
He repeated all this in a dull, mechanical manner, speaking slowly and distinctly, like a lesson learnt by rote.
"If you really require it," said Madame Wolska somewhat reluctantly, beginning to consider whether she could without much inconvenience put the dried peas into a sack; but Magda, who was quicker of thought, put in, —
"Surely not another coffin? Has old Katinka —" But Philip Buska's face looked so very irresponsive that she did not finish her question.
"Perhaps I can spare the other case," said Madame Wolska, after a pause. "But why have you not brought your wife with you? You will not be able to carry both cases alone."
"My wife is dead," said Filip gloomily. "It is for her that I require the other case."
"Jesu Maria!" shrieked Magda.
"Dead!" said Madame Wolska. "Can it be true? How? When did she die?"
"Last night," said Filip. "After we had left the great house, she cooked the supper before we lay down to rest. We ate boiled potatoes and bacon, and I never noticed that she hardly touched her plateful, for I was busy working out the measurements of the coffins to be made to-day. Only this morning I saw that her plate was still full. I slept heavily, for I was tired; but about two o'clock I was awakened by the groans from her bed. My poor Julka! I should hardly have known her face, — all blue and drawn on one side with the pain. I fetched the old midwife, who is known to be learned in such matters: she gave her warm drinks of the blest herbs, and hot cloths with roasted corn were laid on her body; but it was all of no use. She passed away before sunrise. My poor Julka!" and two heavy tears rolled down his hard, furrowed cheeks.
"Why did you not send for me?" cried Sophie Wolska, who felt remorseful on thinking of her own calm, undisturbed night. "Perhaps I might have helped you."
"It was God's will," said Filip moodily, relapsing into reserve; and as though to ward off any further expression of sympathy, he added hastily, "Now, if the gracious pani will permit, I will fetch the two packing-cases."
"Certainly, certainly," said Madame Wolska, feeling ashamed of her utter helplessness in this matter. "Magda shall help you to carry them home, and I shall give you a packet of tea and some camphor-drops, in case you feel ill yourself or the children."
Filip accepted the tea and the camphor passively, or rather he made no resistance, when they were pressed upon him by mistress and maid. Together with Magda he repaired to the store-room, and there they proceeded to empty out the dried peas. Magda, kneeling on the floor, held open the mouth of the sack with both hands, while Filip, with a large wooden bowl, ladled the contents into it. When it was two-thirds empty, he hoisted up the now lightened case on his arm, and poured the remaining peas in a rustling cascade into the coarse linen sack. But his hand was shaking like that of a drunkard, and many of them were spilt over the brick floor, and others sprang up rudely against Magda's face and hit her sharply like tiny bullets, till her skin tingled with the pain; but she uttered no sound of complaint, and Filip no word of apology. He had not even looked at her.
The smaller of the two cases was now placed within the other, and Filip and Magda together proceeded to carry them down the hill. It was a tolerable load even for two persons, and they were forced to rest more than once on the way; but no word was spoken between them, and they reached the hut in silence.
