He shrugged his shoulders. “Do I know? I have not told her.”
“Tell her.”
“As thou wishest.”
There was a pause. Presently the woman spoke.
“Wilt thou not bring her to see me? Then she will know that thou hast no love left for me.”
He flinched as at a stab. After a painful moment he said, “Art thou in earnest?”
“I am no marriage jester. Bring her to me. Will she not come to see an invalid? It is a Mitzvah [good deed] to visit the sick. It will wipe out her trespass.”
“She shall come.”
She came. Sarah stared at her for an instant with poignant curiosity; then her eyelids drooped to shut out the dazzle of her youth and freshness. Herzel’s wife moved awkwardly and sheepishly. But she was beautiful; a buxom, comely country girl from a Russian village, with a swelling bust and a cheek rosy with health and confusion.
Sarah’s breast was racked by a thousand needles; but she found breath at last.