Tillie brought the Scotch, already mixed, in a tall glass. K. would have
preferred to mix it himself, but the Scotch was good. He felt a new
respect for Mr. Schwitter.
"You gave me a turn at first," said Tillie. "But I am right glad to see
you, Mr. Le Moyne. Now that the roads are bad, nobody comes very much.
It's lonely."
Until now, K. and Tillie, when they met, had met conversationally on the
common ground of food. They no longer had that, and between them both lay
like a barrier their last conversation.
"Are you happy, Tillie?" said K. suddenly.
"I expected you'd ask me that. I've been thinking what to say."
Her reply set him watching her face. More attractive it certainly was, but
happy? There was a wistfulness about Tillie's mouth that set him
wondering.
"Is he good to you?"
"He's about the best man on earth. He's never said a cross word to
me--even at first, when I was panicky and scared at every sound."
Le Moyne nodded understandingly.
"I burned a lot of victuals when I first came, running off and hiding when
I heard people around the place. It used to seem to me that what I'd done
was written on my face. But he never said a word."
"That's over now?"
"I don't run. I am still frightened."
"Then it has been worth while?"
Tillie glanced up at the two pictures over the mantel.
"Sometimes it is--when he comes in tired, and I've a chicken ready or some
fried ham and eggs for his supper, and I see him begin to look rested. He
lights his pipe, and many an evening he helps me with the dishes. He's
happy; he's getting fat."
"But you?" Le Moyne persisted.
"I wouldn't go back to where I was, but I am not happy, Mr. Le Moyne.
There's no use pretending. I want a baby. All along I've wanted a baby.
He wants one. This place is his, and he'd like a boy to come into it when
he's gone. But, my God! if I did have one; what would it be?"
K.'s eyes followed hers to the picture and the everlastings underneath.
"And she--there isn't any prospect of her--?"
"No."
There was no solution to Tillie's problem. Le Moyne, standing on the
hearth and looking down at her, realized that, after all, Tillie must work
out her own salvation. He could offer her no comfort.