Gradually a certain thoughtfulness overspread Ascher's agitated features, his lips were tightly compressed, deep furrows lined his forehead, while his eyes were fixed in a stony glare, as if upon some distant object. In the meantime Ephraim had remained standing almost motionless, and it was evident that his presence in the room had quite escaped his father's observation. With a chilling shudder running through his frame, his hair on end with horror, he listened to the strange soliloquy!... Then he saw his father's eyes travelling slowly in the direction of the old bureau in the corner, and there they remained fixed. “Why does he leave the key in the door, I wonder,” he heard him mutter between his teeth, “just as Gudule used to do; I must tell him when he comes back, keys should n't be left in doors, never, under any circumstances.” The entrance of Viola interrupted the old gambler's audible train of thought.
Ephraim gave a gasp of relief.
“Ah, what have you brought me?” cried Ascher, and his eyes sparkled with animation, as Viola produced some bottles from under her apron, and placed them and some glasses upon the table.
“Now then, fill up the glass,” he shouted, in a commanding voice, “and take care that you don't spill any, or you 'll spoil my luck.”
With trembling hand Viola did as she was bidden, without spilling a single drop. Then he took up the glass and drained it at one draught. His face flushed a bright crimson: he poured himself out another glass.
“Are n't you drinking, Ephraim?” he exclaimed, after he had finished that glass also.
“I don't drink to-day, father,” Ephraim faltered, “it's a fast.”
“A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too,” he continued, with a coarse laugh, “twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when the sun is up at three already, and at eight o'clock at night is still hesitating whether he 'll go to bed or not... what have I got to do with your Fast-day?”
His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth glass, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle. Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast assuming that glassy brightness that is usually the forerunner of helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see. Impelled by that natural, almost holy shame which prompted the son of Noah to cover the nakedness of his father, he motioned to his sister to leave. Then he, too, softly walked out of the room.
Outside, in the corridor, the brother and sister fell into each other's arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim's shoulder, whispered: “Ephraim, what do you think of him?”