Roumanian Stories Part 35

Sandu felt as if the house were falling about his ears--he could not keep him any longer? The blow was a heavy one.

"You have twenty-seven florins to come to you," said Master Dinu, and he did not seem to have the courage to look Sandu in the face. "Here are thirty, so that you do not lose your daily pay up to the beginning of next week. May G.o.d give you good fortune, you are a good man, and an honest, but I--I can no longer keep you. I am sorry, but I cannot help it. G.o.d be with you."

And so saying, Master Dinu went away.

Lost in thought Sandu stood gazing in front of him, seeing nothing. After a while he sighed heavily, picked up his money, and with a heart that seemed turned to ice he went off to collect all he had, poor man, in the way of clothes and linen, before he took the road.

He collected all his possessions, but he could not make up his mind to take leave of the men with whom he had worked so long. Even Iotza was sorry, for Sandu had been kind, and never spoken a rude word to him.

"I am sorry to leave you," said Sandu, and he felt as if his heart was breaking.

"G.o.d be with you," replied they, and holding out their hands they accompanied him outside.

Iotza went a little way with him.

"Sandu, listen; I cannot bear not to tell you, but I know the mistress and you, and I know you want to go and say good-bye to her. Don't go, listen to me: it was not the master, it was she who said you were to be dismissed. Don't go, it is better not to go."

Sandu made no reply.

They went a few steps farther together and parted. The nearer he drew to Master Dinu's house, the more he longed to enter. He felt as though some one were urging him to go in.

When he was quite near the door Master Dinu came out into the street. When he saw Sandu he stopped.

"You are going?"

"I am going, master, but I wanted to take leave of the mistress."

"As the mistress is not at home let me tell her."

Sandu bent his head.

"Good luck to you, master."

"May G.o.d be with you!"

With slow and heavy step Sandu took the road to the market-place. At the corner he stopped. He turned his head and looked back along the street towards Master Dinu's house.

He had crossed the square and was on the bridge when he met Nitza Burencea.

"What's up, Sandu, have you left? Where are you going?"

Sandu, like a person awakened out of a trance, with his eyes fastened dreamily upon the distant horizon, answered in a troubled voice:

"I go out into the world!"

THE BIRD OF ILL OMEN

By I. AL. BRATESCU-VOINESHTI

Conu Costache had one of the pleasantest faces in the town.

Men of the same age as himself said he was nearly seventy years old; but a life free from care, a comfortable fortune, a wife as loving as a sister, two children who were getting on well, and, above all, his own kindly nature, had kept him so healthy, quick of movement and clear of mind, that one would not have given him fifty years.

He told stories with a charm and humour that gathered an audience round him whenever he opened his mouth; and as he had travelled much abroad, and was also a sportsman, he knew every kind of amusing anecdote.

This man, who was as good as new bread, always smiling, whose person seemed to radiate joy, became acrimonious and impatient every time his game of Preference went badly; it was the one and only, but the daily game of cards he played. He did not get angry out of stinginess--he was not a miser; on the contrary, he was open-handed, that was his nature.

If it happened that he "entered" twice in succession, or if he got irritated with his partners, he grew furious. Everything seemed wrong to him; the jam was sour, the coffee too sweet, the water too cold, the lamp too dim, the chalk was not sharp enough; he shouted at the boy who served him; he changed his chair because it squeaked; he hammered upon the table with his fists until the candlesticks jumped; he looked daggers over his spectacles at anyone who made a joke--I a.s.sure you, he was in a vile temper, as vile a temper as a man could be in, when he had no other place in which to give vent to it.

His partners knew him, and were aware that five minutes after the game was over he would become once more kind, amiable, and amusing Conu Costache.

If you were sitting near him when he was playing Preference, you should get up the first time he "entered"; shouldn't wait for him to say to you: "Can't you get away, my good fellow; you spoil my luck!" One day, after two "entries," he said to a person with whom he had only just become acquainted and who would not move away from his side:

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe in birds of ill omen. This game is a question of faces. I can scarcely compose my own face; I certainly cannot compose yours. Kindly move a little farther off! Thank you. Don't be offended."

Ever since that day, the onlookers at the game have been given the name of birds of ill omen, and they swarmed in the room where Conu Costache played; if the game went well he was affable and they listened to him with pleasure--if the game went badly, they moved away from him and made fun of his ill humour.

One evening the Prefect gave a party. The young people danced in the drawing-room; their elders a.s.sembled in the other rooms; Conu Costache sat at a table playing Preference with three other people; among them was the attorney, a cunning player with a special talent for making him lose his temper; a large audience had gathered round.

Conu Costache was losing: he was angry, but controlled himself--he could not give vent to his annoyance, for there were ladies present. Conu and his friends were playing in the middle of the room; he had barely scored six, and had entered the pool with thirteen.

At this moment an old lady approached. She was a Moldavian, the mother of Dr. Ionashcu. She took a chair, seated herself by Conu Costache with the calm serenity of the aged, who neither see nor hear well.

There she remained.

From time to time she gently put a question to Conu Costache; it had the same effect upon his agitation as does oil upon a fire of coals.

"How beautiful it must be at your country-house now, Mr. Costache!"

"Beautiful, Mrs. Raluca," he replied, forcing himself to smile--and chalking himself another eighteen in the pool.

"I expect you often go there, as it is so close."

"I went to-day, Mrs. Raluca."

No words can describe the contrast between the placidity with which Mrs. Raluca told her beads, and the fury with which Conu Costache shuffled his cards.

"Is it a good harvest, Mr. Costache?"

"G--g--good, Mrs. Raluca," he replied, thrusting both hands inside the neck of his s.h.i.+rt to loosen the collar.