These melancholy reflections brought the tears to her eyes. She thought long and seriously about Lukas and about herself.
‘After all, would it matter,’ she pondered, leaning her perplexed head on the hood of the cradle, ‘if I gave him his heart’s desire, tomorrow morning before he goes to work?’ She pulled herself up with: ‘Enough of this,’ but continued to reason in the same strain. ‘It might not offend the dead woman, and yet show him that I can do something for him even if it goes against the grain. But no—no, I will not do it! I am not standing out for appearances but for my deepest convictions and in an honourable cause. What would have happened if his wife had never yielded her place to me, and everything had remained as it was? We should have had to make the best of it. No, I will stick to what I have decided upon; I know I am doing right.’
Her father had had good reason for saying that his daughter had an inflexible will, and would not yield even if her world should be consumed in fire and flame. Of that which she thought right Vendulka would not yield a hair’s breadth.
When from that day Lukas never lost his sad expression; when he never sat down
