he proposed to Ernest that they should sing a song, and they sang:
and
‘See the white steed running by the river.’
The red-haired beater came in and sat down near the door, looking as self-satisfied as a successful producer of a play. Martin treated him to as much brandy as he would like to have. He sat and sipped it thoughtfully like a connoisseur. The innkeeper went across the parlour to him. He did not presume to sit down with the gentlemen.
‘How is Novák?’ the beater asked him. The tone of his voice left Martin no doubt that the question was pointed at him, but the beater had not looked in his direction. The youth trembled and pushed his glass away in his confusion.
‘He has had the last sacrament,’ answered the innkeeeper, ‘but perhaps he may pull through all the same.’
Martin’s melancholy returned. He had been feeling so happy! As if old Háta Látalová had been doing all the dying for
