. . . .
The game of whist had come to an end, and every one rose, preparatory to departure.
“Good-night, uncle Solomon,” said Reuben’s mother. She, too, was a Sachs, who had married her cousin.
“Come along, mamma,” cried Esther yawning, “I am dead beat. The domestic habits of the cobra are not adapted to the human constitution, that is clear.”
Reuben was standing in the hall with his mother, as Rose and Judith came down stairs in their outdoor clothes.
“Your carriage is at the door,” said Israel Leuniger to Mrs. Sachs as he lit his cigar.
Mrs. Sachs turned to her son:
“Aren’t you coming, Reuben?”
“No, but I do not expect to be late.” He answered gently and seriously, stooping down and folding a shawl about her shoulders as he spoke.
Mrs. Sachs raised her wide, sallow, wrinkled face to her son’s, looked at him a moment, then, with a sudden impulse of tenderness, lifted her hand and stroked back the hair from his forehead.