The baroness pursed her lips in abhorrence of the spider no less than disgust over her husband’s remark. She gave the bell rope upon the table a violent tug. A fat butler in violet-colored livery appeared.
“Tell those down stairs to send a maid to remove the dust and cobwebs,” commanded the fair lady, with a cloud upon her brow. Seating herself opposite her husband, who wore a kind of malignant smile, she kept looking with face full of chagrin in the direction of her endeared statue. A long time elapsed—the maid failed to materialize. The baroness’ face registered more chagrin, and the baron’s smile became still more malignant.
Below, the footman’s message caused an enormous alarm in the matter of dust and cobwebs, and no meaner amount of anxiety regarding the desired maid. After a lengthy conference and much ado they decided, in the fashion of a drowning man clutching at a straw, upon Foltyn’s Mary. It wasn’t but after repeated ntreaties from old Foltyn, who hoped with his daughter’s aid to correct the unhappy incident with the drum, that they succeeded in dragging he hesitating girl from the porter's lodge, the director's wife herself forcibly placing her own yellow silk kerchief—the one with the long, fringy border—upon her bosom, and a monstrous whisk into her hand; thus adorned, the trembling victim was led by the footman to the rooms of the gentry.
Angrily stamping her foot, the baroness stepped towards the door when it opened and Mary, white as a sheet, with eyes lowered, made her appearance. The baroness’ intended unkind address died upon her lips. She was dumbstruck by the charms of an humble girl: for this one was slender and pliant as a reed, her features re fined and childlike in their roundness, her rich brown hair in admirable harmony with her fresh, clear-complexioned face, her whole being breathing forth the magic of its first summer.
“Here my dear child!” at last spoke the lady, pointing to the oscillating cobweb.
The girl courtsied in a clumsy way sending a swift, dark-blue spark from beneath her dark brows the while, and came timidly forward. The whisk did not reach the cobweb. She was compelled to crimson, her dark blue eyes wandered towards the ceiling, her immaculately white throat arching upwards, below which, through the fringes of the bright yellow kerchief, showed a string of artificial corals upon the snow-white folds of her chemise. Add to this a princess’ foot that was hers, and own: a winsome sight.
After the removal of everything objectionable, the baroness tapped upon Mary’s shoulder in an affable manner and asked: “What is your name?”
“Mary Foltýn;” lisped the girl.
“Foltýn? Foltýn—? What does vour father do?”
“He’s the gate-keep, your grace!”
“Undoubtedly the one with the drum”, remarked the baron, while a slight smile passed over his countenance.
“Go into the neighboring room and wait for me,” said the baroness to the girl. After the withdrawal of the latter, she turned to her husband with the words: “A delightful child! How do you like her?”
“It all depends upon one’s taste.”
“As I have said, delightful! Exceptionally fine figure, pleasing face and, withal, how modest!”
“The statue seems to have found a rival.”
“Jesting aside, what if I should a bring her up as a chambermaid? Should I hire her at once? What do you say?”
“That your whims are truly inconceivable;” he answered, yawning.
The baroness favored her whims with an unusual degree of energy. With no preliminary whatever, she asked the girl if she would like to go to town with her, and, without even awaiting her answer , she engaged her on the spot, rechristened her to Marietta, recounted to her in brilliant colors the advantages of being a chambermaid, bestowing upon her, in the end, a pair of hardly worn slippers and a coquettish house-bonnet.
Old Foltýn was left speechless with pleasant surprise when Mary returned to him with this news. Not even in dreams did he cherish the hope that his daughter was by fate chosen to become a lustrous pendant to the footman whose relationship was the pride of the whole family of Foltyns. He forgot the drum incident on the instant, his walk became still more erect and his eyes glistened like those of a youngster.
Some days passed. The baroness continued in ecstasies over the beauties of rural life, and applied herself with great zeal to the task of making a chambermaid of Marietta; the latter often stood before a mirror, inside her fancy cap, with a huge tuft of all-color feathers which her mistress had purchased for her for the removal of dust, in her shapely hand; frequently, seating herself upon an ornamental footstool in the drawing-room, she roamed with her dreamy blue gaze somewhere afar, where her mind saw lofty mansions, finely attired people, and magnificent equipages—later always resting her head in her palms, lost in deep, deep thought. The baron lounged slothfully in his pet armchair, smoking and yawning; the director and his wife were at end of their concern regarding the exalted visitors; Beruška made friends with the violet-colored butler and played at twenty-six with him, safe in the midst of fumes of their pipes behind the locked office-doors. Once, at eventide, the baroness betook herself, with a tastefully bound volume of Burns in hand.
