'He's playing somewhere in the street.'
'Ach, mein Gott! Playing, when he ought to be weeping like this child of shame. Go and fetch him at once!'
'What do you want him for?'
'I am going to take you both away—out of this misery. You'd like to come and live with me—eh, my lamb?'
'Rather—anything's better than this.'
Natalya caught her to her breast again.
'Go and fetch my Joseph! But quick, quick, before the public-house woman comes back!'
Becky flew out, and Natalya sank into a chair, breathless with emotion and fatigue. The baby in the cradle beside her howled more vigorously, and automatically her foot sought the rocker, and she heard herself singing:
'Sleep, little baby, sleep,
Thy father shall be a Rabbi;
Thy mother shall bring thee almonds;
Blessings on thy little head.'
As the howling diminished, she realized with a shock that she was rocking this misbegotten infant—nay, singing to it a Jewish cradle-song full of inappropriate phrases. She withdrew her foot as though the rocker had grown suddenly red-hot. The yells broke out with fresh vehemence, and she angrily restored her foot to its old place. 'Nu, nu,' she cried, rocking violently, 'go to sleep.'