without me, and without me he would have been what you would have “covenanted” him to be. Marianka, God is also in other places besides the church. And when I see Petr and his habitual silence, his compressed lips, it is to me as if I saw our poor dead father again, at that time when I told him I would go to the seminary if we didn’t have enough money for the university (waving his hand). Well, I went gladly. I offered myself as a sacrifice, and went of my own will, Marianka, of my own accord.
Kocianova.—And Petr also
Matoush.—Petr, my dear, has been sacrificed by you, or rather let us say, we have sacrificed him. He could have studied, I could have afforded it. (Silence.)
Kocianova.—It was God’s will.
Matoush.—It was your wish, Marianka, it was the wish of your religion (smoothing her hair lightly). You have a good son, sister. May God preserve him, and the Lord’s will be done. (Rising.) Won’t you give me my lunch?
Kocianova (rising).—See, we were talking till I forgot. (Seeing Petr coming.) And there is Petr coming; you can eat together.
Petr (entering from the outside).—His name be praised!
Matoush.—Unto all eternity!
Kocianova.—From ages to ages!
Matoush.—You are hurrying home, too, aren’t you? Such heat tires me.
Petr.—In the Zalchi woods it is nice and shady, and pleasant to read there.
Matoush.—Yes, on Zalchi, of course,—but what a distance?
Kocianova.—Do you still remember, Petrichek, how you got lost on Zalchi when you went to pick strawberries? Good God, but that’s so many years ago!
Petr (smiling).—At least twenty.
Kocianova.—If not more, my dear boy. Why you were only such a bit of a schoolboy; but even at that time your dear father was already with God.
Matoush.—It will be twenty-four years on Saint Vaclav’s day since he died.
Kocianova.—Twenty-four already. How the years go! And how old are you, Petrichek?
Petr.—Almost twenty-eight.
Matoush.—To be sure, to be sure. You were almost fourteen
