all the changes she had lived through during the last two days. Her large brown eyes were looking towards the door when she heard the voice of the man whom she had only so lately met for the first time. But when she saw Magda appear on the threshold, she sprang to her feet, her cheeks burned, and she cried: ‘Mummy!’
‘Magda!’
Magdalena’s voice was choked, the last syllable remained unspoken. The blood left her face, her body was swaying. She clutched the fingers of Ivan’s right hand as though she were drowning; still she could not stand, and sank down on her knees which had given way beneath her.
‘Magda,’ cried Hron, trying to hold her up, ‘pull yourself together, little mother.’
Magda resisted. Not standing . . . only kneeling she could listen to the terrible things which a deceived husband must now speak.
But his arms lifted her up completely, and his right hand raised her head which had dropped on to her chest.
‘Magda,’ he whispered, trembling all over, ‘be brave, don’t frighten our little daughter.’
He lifted her head almost by force, to look into her eyes. But she had closed them; a
