"Which means that he is not a decent man at present? I see."
"This way, please," said Jankiel, showing the gates of the synagogue court.
"And where does your Rabbi live?"
Kamionker pointed to the little black hut close to the synagogue.
"What, in that little cottage?"
And he went towards it with Jankiel alone, as Witebski, guessing that some unpleasant business had brought them hither, directly took his leave, and, bowing politely, left them.
The door of the hut was already closed, but a little group of worshippers still lingered at the open window. It was very silent within; but the Rabbi did not rest, he never rested, as the few hours spent in broken sleep could scarcely be called by that name. He was bending over his books, which he knew by heart, but still pondered over, and of which he strove with his whole mind and soul to penetrate the mystery.
Reb Moshe rested, but not altogether. He sat in the corner of the fireplace, his knees drawn up to his chin, and his hands buried in his beard. He looked fixedly at the Master, not unlike a fanatic savage worshipping his fetish, or as a scientist watches the universe. The eyes of Reb Moshe expressed deep veneration, wonder, and utter devotion.
Suddenly the door opened, and upon the threshold stood the lord of
Kamionka who, turning to Jankiel, said:
"Remain outside; I will speak alone with the Rabbi."