The old woman spoke nothing to spoil the match, and became enraged against Chyenke and her five hundred roubles,—against Drabkin, against Chashke, against herself and her whole life of poverty. She restrained her tears and prepared many a complaint for the Lord of the universe.
Meanwhile Drabkin was laying his plans. He spoke in a merry mood and did not notice the grief about him.
He noticed it, however, a few days later, when he entered the house in glee and announced that the betrothal was to take place the following day. Chashke turned pale, seized her breast and nearly swooned. His words died on his lips: now he understood everything.
“Chashke, what’s the matter?” he cried, in his fright, although he knew very well what was the matter. He brought her a glass of water.
The old woman danced about her daughter and Drabkin stood there, overwhelmed. Tears came to his eyes. Now, for the first time, he understood why, in the past few days, Chashke had come so often before his eyes when he spoke of the other girl. For the first time he realised whom he really needed.
He was seized with an impulse to rush over to Chashke, embrace her, throw his arms about her neck, kiss her, and swear to her that he would marry only her....
He dashed into his room in distraction, pale, agitated.
“What madness has possessed him?” asked the old woman angrily.
And Chashke began to weep even more bitterly, and pressed her breast harder than ever.