or before it
opens, and a shaky, tearful voice, full of melancholy, pain, and woe,
breaks the hush a second time this night:

"Bertzi, is it you? Are you all right? So late? Has there been another
accident? And the cart and the horse, wu senen?"

"All right, all right! A happy holiday!"

His voice is rough, hoarse, and muffled.

She lets him into the passage, and opens the inner door.

But scarcely is he conscious of the light, warmth, and cleanliness of
the room, when he gives a strange, wild cry, takes one leap, like a
hare, onto the "eating-couch" spread for him on the red-painted, wooden
sofa, and--he lies already in a deep sleep.

II

The whole dwelling, consisting of one nice, large, low room, is clean,
tidy, and bright. The bits of furniture and all the household essentials
are poor, but so clean and polished that one can mirror oneself in them,
if one cares to stoop down. The table is laid ready for Passover. The
bottles of red wine, the bottle of yellow Passover brandy, and the glass
goblets of different colors reflect the light of the thick tallow
candles, and shine and twinkle and sparkle. The oven, which stands in
the same room, is nearly out, there is one sleepy little bit of fire
still flickering. But the pots, ranged round the fire as though to watch
over it and encourage it, exhale such delicious, appetizing smells that
they would tempt even a person who had just eaten his fill. But no one
makes a move towards them. All five children lie stretched in a row on
the red-painted, wooden bed. Even they have not tasted of the precious
dishes, of which they have thought and talked for weeks previous to the
festival. They cried loud and long, waiting for their father's return,
and at last they went sweetly to sleep. Only one fly is moving about the
room: Rochtzi, Bertzi Wasserfuehrer's wife, and rivers of tears, large,
clear tears, salt with trouble and distress, flow from her eyes.

III

Although Rochtzi has not seen more than thirty summers, she looks like
an old woman. Once upon a time she was pretty, she was even known as one
of the prettiest of the Kamenivke girls, and traces of her beauty are
still to be found in her uncommonly large, dark eyes, and even in her
lined face, although the eyes have long lost their fire, and her cheeks,
their color and freshness. She is dressed in clean holiday attire, but
her eyes are red from the hot, salt tears, and her expression is
darkened and sad.

"Suc