And when his eyes ranged from the ceiling and sought the objects that were nearest to him, here stood, here sat in the apartment, his wife, Frank, and Bartos. Loyka greeted them with a prolonged stare, but did not utter a word. He only gazed at them.
And when his eyes wandered to the door he saw several of the servants standing there, one of whom said, “We await your order, pantata, where we are to go and plough.”
Old Loyka again turned his eyes towards his wife, his son and Bartos, and said, “tell me nothing: if it is a dream, let me dream on.” And to the servants he said, “go and plough beyond the meadow, I will come and see how much you have worked.”
When the servants had gone, he again looked towards his son and said, “and Joseph allows you to be here? Does he allow me to be here also?”
“You are at home, Papa,” said Frank, “and we will never leave it again.”
“At home? Prythee tell me nothing whatever until afterwards,” and he rubbed his forehead. After a while he said to his wife, “They told me you were sick unto death.”
“Now she is well again,” said Bartos.
When Loyka got upon his feet he enquired, “may I venture to walk about the room.”
“About the room, the courtyard, in the fields, where you please.” answered Frank.
