The mistress, who was holding the skins to make it easier for Dinu to cut out the straps, and trim them after cutting out, put her hands on her hips and looked at her husband.
"What, my Ana damp the sandals?"
At his wife's words Master Dinu stayed the knife in the middle of the skin.
"She is not a smart lady, is she, and you are not going to marry her to some grandee? There is no disgrace to her in coming to give a little help."
His wife lost her temper. Her daughter damp sandals! Her daughter associate with the men! Her daughter, who had gone to school to the nuns for so many years! Her daughter, who knew how to sew so beautifully! Her daughter, who was friends with the niece of one important person, and the inseparable companion of the daughters of another! Her daughter to handle the sandals and make her fingers smell of bark!
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said, hoarse with anger, "even if you do not know how to behave properly, you need not insult your daughter."
"Insult?" questioned Master Dinu.
But his wife rushed from the room.
He looked long after her, then glanced at the workmen, took up the knife with a nervous movement, and began quickly to cut out the sandals.
The workmen, who had heard the words exchanged, and seen the abrupt departure of the mistress, kept complete silence and busied themselves with their work.
Master Dinu finished cutting the skins.
"You might hurry yourselves a little when you know the work ought to be ready," he said to the men, and departed, hanging his head.
"Very unhappy is Master Dinu," said Iotza, looking after him.
"Why?" one of them asked him.
"Why? Because those are the sharpest words I have ever heard coming from his mouth."
Dinner was unusually quiet, only the little boy whined and asked for first one thing and then another. His mother gave him one or two raps over the knuckles to make him sit still and be silent, but the child began to cry, and she angrily sent him into the next room.
Master Dinu said never a word and his daughter, Ana, looked round her in a frightened manner, and would like to have asked what had happened to-day to make them all so downcast.
Sandu had seen her many times, but he had never seen her well. He knew she was the master's daughter. He greeted her when she came to the table, but speak to her or look her really in the face, that, up till to-day, he had never done.
But when he saw her looking sadly, now at her father, now at her mother, and then at the others seated round the table, he wanted to say something to her to cheer her and make her laugh. But he had nothing to tell her, he could not find a word, and when their eyes met he felt as though he were being swept away by a storm, and carried he knew not whither.
Ana was so beautiful and so graceful. With her white hands and her fair face one would never have believed her to be the daughter of an artisan. Her big blue eyes, so full of kindness, were shaded by black eyelashes, and when she laughed one's heart glowed in the joyous sound, and one wished one could often hear her laughing.
Iotza--he had been workman with Dinu for a long time--when the mistress was out of the house, had more than once asked her to mend something for him, and not infrequently she had brought him drink from the cellar when the frost was sharp and he had complained that he could not stand the cold. And with all his prudence Iotza had let drop a word in the workshop in praise of Ana's kindness.
And so it came about that they all waited for the mistress to go out that they might speak to Ana and ask her one thing or another.
Only Sandu had never been to her. And that was why he especially wanted now to divert her thoughts and make her smile.
Her eyes troubled him, and he felt happier when he found himself back in the workshop.
One day, according to the allotment of the work, it was his duty to turn the skins in the vats full of birch bark solution. He was alone in the workshop, he could work in peace, but he often let the stick fall from his hand, for, unlike other days, that day the fumes made him perspire, and he did not notice whether the skins were thoroughly turned. There was one vat more to turn when the door opened gently.
"Good luck, Sandu."
Sandu raised his head as though he were in a dream, wiped away the sweat, and looked at Ana as one looks at a person one does not the least expect to see. He wanted to say something to her, but a lump rose in his throat. Ana came nearer to him.
"Sandu, I came to tell you to put the sandals in the box after you have turned the skins."
"Good," replied Sandu.
"Don't forget what Father said," and away she went.
Outside she met Iotza, and passed him in such a hurry that she did not hear his greeting.
"Well, Sandu, what did Ana want in the workshop?" he asked as he threw his apron behind a vat.
"Nothing," replied Sandu, who was disappointed at not talking longer with Ana.
"Nothing? Well, well! Listen, have you turned the skins?"
"I have."
"Have you filled the boiler with water?"
"Yes, I have."
"How much have you put? You have not filled it! Bring two more bucketfuls."
"How can you pour two more bucketfuls in when it does not hold more than one?"
"It does not hold more? I tell you plainly you have been too lazy to bring more, and who knows how you have turned the skins."
Sandu grew red.
"Iotza, I learnt my work from the master and not from the workman."
"And what next?"
"The next is, that I don't need your advice."
"We shall see," cried Iotza, and went off.
Three days later the mistress came to the workshop; she walked about here and there, and after a while she looked at the vats and took out a skin.
"Who turned this vat?"
"I did," replied Sandu.
"I thought as much! Now you--just come and look at your work! That's how you turned it; that's what the solution is like; that's the kind of work you get paid for!"
Sandu went up to the vat feeling as though he had been struck on the head. The solution was yellow, the skins were yellow and creased as usual, and he could not understand what fault the mistress had to find.