(He goes out through the back door, shaking his head in perplexity)
Mother
(Alone.)
He’ll find a coward’s courage in his glass—
Enough to dig a hole when he comes back.
(She goes to shelf and snuffs the candles. The moon shines brightly through the window and the firelight glows. She takes a knife from a table drawer, feels the edge; goes to the window and peers out; turns about, uneasily scanning the room, then moves toward the side door, muttering.)
Eight hundred shining rubles in a sack!
(She goes out softly and closes the door. A cry is heard as of one in a nightmare. After a considerable interval the mother reënters with a small bag which she is opening with nervous fingers. The moonlight falls upon her. Now and then she endeavors to shake something from her hands, which she finally wipes on her apron, muttering the while.)
When folks get rich they find their fingers dirty.
(She counts the coins in silence for awhile, then aloud.)