SARAH.
Oh, my little Moishe! David, David, our little Moishe is dead.
DAVID.
Wiping his eyes with a large red handkerchief.
Be silent, Sarah. What was I going to say to them, Nullius?... Well, write, Nullius, write. I know.
Firmly.
I have resolved, in accordance with the command of God, who is Truth and Mercy, to distribute all my possessions to the poor. Am I speaking properly, Nullius?
ANATHEMA.
I hear God in your words.
At first no one believes David; but soon joyous doubts and unexpected fear come over them. As though in sleep the people repeat: "Four millions, four millions!" and they hide their faces with their hands. The Organ-grinder comes forward.