of the Gymnasiye will come together, and it's only after the
consultation that we shall know if he is entered or not. The time for
action has come, and my wife is anywhere but at home. No hot meals, no
samovar, no nothing! She is in the Gymnasiye, that is, not _in_ the
Gymnasiye, but _at_ it, walking round and round it in the frost, from
first thing in the morning, waiting for them to begin coming away from
the consultation. The frost bites, there is a tearing east wind, and she
paces round and round the building, and waits. Once a woman, always a
woman! It seemed to me, that when people have made a promise, it is
surely sacred, especially--you understand? But who would reason with a
woman? Well, she waited one hour, she waited two, waited three, waited
four; the children were all home long ago, and she waited on. She waited
(much good may it do you!) till she got what she was waiting for. A door
opens, and out comes one of the teachers. She springs and seizes hold on
him. Does he know the result of the consultation? Why, says he, should
he not? They have passed altogether twenty-five children, twenty-three
Christian and two Jewish. Says she, "Who are they?" Says he, "One a
Shefselsohn and one a Katz." At the name Katz, my wife shoots home like
an arrow from the bow, and bursts into the room in triumph: "Good news!
good news! Passed, passed!" and there are tears in her eyes. Of course,
I am pleased, too, but I don't feel called upon to go dancing, being a
man and not a woman. "It's evidently not much _you_ care?" says she to
me. "What makes you think that?" say I.--"This," says she, "you sit
there cold as a stone! If you knew how impatient the child is, you would
have taken him long ago to the tailor's, and ordered his little
uniform," says she, "and a cap and a satchel," says she, "and made a
little banquet for our friends."--"Why a banquet, all of a sudden?" say
I. "Is there a Bar-Mitzveh? Is there an engagement?" I say all this
quite quietly, for, after all, I am a man, not a woman. She grew so
angry that she stopped talking. And when a woman stops talking, it's a
thousand times worse than when she scolds, because so long as she is
scolding at least you hear the sound of the human voice. Otherwise it's
talk to the wall! To put it briefly, she got her way--she, not I--as
usual.

There was a banquet; we invited our friends and our good friends, and my
boy was dressed up from head to foot in a very smart uniform, with w