And now the female in his room started to whisper.
Hans turned his head round and said roughly: “Shut up!” That rather pleased Amanda; his insolence to the other woman showed that he could not care very much for her. He would not have dared to talk to herself like that; she would have boxed his ears. She would very much like to know who the other woman was, however. It was no one from the Manor; they had all been at the prayer meeting.
“For Heaven’s sake dress quickly,” she heard Hans say. “If Amanda comes there’ll be the hell of a row. That would just about finish it.”
Amanda almost burst out laughing. He was as silly as ever. The row was waiting outside his very window, but he’d noticed nothing. Hans was always wise after the event. But she would like to have had a few words with the female—everyone in the village, not to mention the people on the estate, knew by now that she went herself with Meier.
The woman inside did seem to be in a hurry—Amanda heard her moving about. Now her head was beside his.
“Shut the window and switch the light on. I can’t find my things,” she grumbled.
Who could it be? One couldn’t recognize a whisper like that.
“Hush!” said Meier, so loudly and roughly that even Amanda started. “Can’t you keep your trap shut? If I turn on the light they’ll think I’m awake.”
“Who’ll think that? Your Amanda?”
Was it the Hartig woman? That would be the limit. The coachman’s wife with her eight children stealing a girl’s young man! If so, she’d be in for it.
“That’s none of your business. You’ve got to hurry up!”
“But my things …”
“I’m not turning on the light. You must manage the best way you can.”
Complaining, the second head vanished from the window. Amanda was now almost certain that it was Frau Hartig. But almost certain is not quite sure. Amanda was in no hurry; she could catch Hans at any time. Now she had to intercept the woman first. Even if she stood there all night, she must get her. She would have to come out through the door or the window—one must be patient!
It was strange that, although Amanda had grown so angry in the prayer meeting, now when there was much more cause for it she couldn’t feel really angry. Least of all with Hans. He was a fool and remained a fool, and if she didn’t look after him he would do stupid things. Neither was she furious with the woman. Indeed, she was surprised at herself. But perhaps she would be furious when she knew who it was and had had a talk with her. Amanda hoped to be in good form. The woman was not to imagine that she could annex someone who by rights belonged to another.
So she waited patiently or impatiently, according to her thoughts from one moment to another, until—and not without relief—she at last saw the visitor climbing out of the window. The relief was derived from the fact that this proved that Hans could not care much about the woman; she had no power over him if he was too lazy to unlock the front door for her. The woman, too, did not waste much time on an affectionate farewell or look round, but steered straight for the corner of the house in the farmyard.
That’s that, thought Amanda Backs, and followed. The bailiff’s windows were thereupon shut rather noisily, which annoyed her, for a shut window on such a warm night could only signify that Herr Meier didn’t want any more visitors—which Amanda took personally.
“Wait for me, you Hartig woman!” she called.
“You, Mandy?” asked the coachman’s wife, peering at her. “How you frightened me! Well, good night! I must go. I’m in a hurry.”
“Let me come with you,” said Amanda, and hurried with her across the farmyard toward the coachman’s dwelling. “I’m going the same way as you.”
“Are you?” asked Frau Hartig and walked more slowly. “Yes, a girl like you on her legs from morn till night—madam won’t get another like you so easily.”
“I don’t put my legs up as easily as some people,” said Amanda, with meaning. “Well, get along; your husband will be waiting for you.”
But Frau Hartig stopped. They were in the middle of the farmyard. To the right were the pigsties in which there was still an occasional rustling (the sty doors stood open because of the heat); on the left was the midden. The two women, however, stood so that Amanda was facing the coachman’s dwelling at one end of the farmyard, while Frau Hartig looked toward the other end, where she could see a light burning in the bailiff’s window—and, of course, it annoyed her that he should have turned on the light after all.
“Besides, Mandy isn’t the right way to address me,” said Amanda Backs after a longish pause.
“I can call you Fräulein Backs, if you prefer it,” said Frau Hartig submissively.
“Yes, Fräulein,” was the retort. “I’m not yet a Frau—I can go with whom I like.”
“So you can,” acknowledged the coachman’s wife. “Any master or mistress would be glad to have a poultry maid like you.”
“Shall we have it out now or shan’t we?” cried Amanda and stamped.
The coachman’s wife remained silent.
“I can talk to your husband if you like,” said Amanda threateningly. “I’ve heard that he’s already wondering how you get such varied children.”
“Varied children,” echoed Frau Hartig with a forced laugh. “How strange you are, Mandy.”
“You’re not to say Mandy. I don’t want to hear it from you.”
“I can say Fräulein Backs if you like.”
“Then say it—and besides, it’s a shame for a married woman to take away a girl’s young man.”
“I haven’t taken him away from you, Amanda,” pleaded Frau Hartig.
“Yes, you have. And one would think that a woman with eight children has got her share.”
“Lord, Amanda,” said the coachman’s wife, conciliatory, “you don’t know anything about what it’s like to be married. You imagine it quite different from what it is.”
“Don’t talk rubbish, Hartig,” cried Amanda threateningly. “You can’t fool me that way.”
“When one’s got a steady man,” explained Frau Hartig, “one thinks all that’s over. But you get that queer feeling again …”
“What queer feeling? Don’t talk nonsense.”
“God, Amanda, I’m not talking nonsense. You must know what it’s like when you feel as if you had a prickling all over your body, and no peace whatever you do, and everything’s got to be done in a blazing hurry, as if you hadn’t a moment to spare—and then you find that you’ve been standing about with a swill pail in your hand for a quarter of an hour without knowing where you are!”
“I’ve nothing to do with swill,” said Amanda Backs cuttingly. But actually she was no longer feeling so hostile; she was giving due attention to what she was hearing.
“No, of course not,” assented Frau Hartig.
“And you’ve got your husband whenever you feel like that. So you oughtn’t to put a spoke in my wheel.”
“But, Amanda, that’s just what you can’t foretell,” exclaimed Frau Hartig eagerly.
“What can’t you foretell?”
“That your husband can’t help you in that at all. If I’d known as a young girl what I know today, I’d never have married, you can believe me.”
“Is that really so?” meditated Amanda Backs. “Don’t you like your husband at all?”
“Lord, yes, of course—he’s quite nice in his way. And quite steady, too. But I don’t like him that way anymore. That queer feeling stopped as far as he was concerned a long time ago.”
“So you like—Hans—Bailiff Meier—much more?”