"Old man!" said Augustinovich to Yosef.
"What news?"
"May I be —— if this is new. Old man, I saw thee kissing the countess's veil. May I be hanged if thou didst not kiss it! Well, thou art fond of kissing—wait, I have a parasol here, perhaps thou wilt kiss the parasol; if that does not suit thee, then perhaps my last year's cloak. The sleeve lining is torn, but otherwise it is a good cloak. May I be!—Give me the pipe—I know what this means, old man; that fool of a Visberg does not know, but I know."
Yosef covered his face with his hands.
Augustinovich looked at him in silence, shuffled his feet under the table, coughed, muttered something through his teeth; finally he said in a voice of emotion,—
"Old man!"
Yosef made no answer.
Augustinovich shook him by the shoulder with sympathy.
"Well, old man, do not grieve, be not troubled—thou art concerned about Helena."
Yosef trembled.