"I have looked through everything," he said, in a discouraged tone, "but the umbrella I want is not among the others."
The old Jewess looked disappointed.
"What can that tiresome Jónás have done with it?" she exclaimed. "Fifty florins! Dreadful! But he never had a reason for anything he did."
"In all probability your husband used that umbrella himself. Mr. Sztolarik of Besztercebánya says he distinctly remembers seeing him with it once."
"What was it like?"
"The stuff was red, with patches of all sorts on it, and it had a pale green border. The stick was of black wood, with a bone handle."
"May I never go to heaven!" exclaimed Rosália, "if that was not the very umbrella he took with him last time he left home! Yes, I know he took that one!"
"It was a great pity he took just that one."
Rosália felt bound to defend her husband.
"How was he to know that?" she said. "He never had a reason for anything he did."