I must thank you for your kindness. _He plays something weird: the organ screeches, breaks off, wheezes. Anathema, with eyes lifted dreamily to the sky, keeps time with his hand, and whistles._ SARAH. My God, how badly it sounds. ANATHEMA. This, madam Leizer (_whistles_),--this is called the world harmony. _The conversation dies away for some time: only the screeching of the organ and the whistling of Anathema are heard. The sun is still shining mercilessly._ ANATHEMA. I have nothing to do, so I wander over the world. _He is carried away by the playing of the organ. Suddenly the organ breaks off with a screech, which rings in the ears for a long time, and Anathema remains as petrified with uplifted hand._ ANATHEMA. _Perplexedly._ Does it always end like this? ORGAN-GRINDER. Sometimes even worse. Good-by. ANATHEMA. _Feeling his vest pocket._ No, no, you mustn't go away like that.... You have afforded us genuine pleasure, and I do not want you to hang yourself. Here is some change for you, and live on. SARAH. _Pleasantly surprised._ Who could ever think, by looking at your face, that you are such a cheerful and kind-hearted man? ANATHEMA. _Flattered._ Oh, do not embarrass me with your praise, madam Leizer. Why shouldn't I help a poor man who would otherwise hang himself! The life of man is a precious thing, madam Leizer,--and I always carry change with me.... But isn't that venerable man I see there David Leizer? _He looks in the direction where the road turns to the right._ SARAH. _Also looking at the road._ Yes, that is David. _All wait silently. On the dust-covered road appears David Leizer, walking slowly. He is tall, bony, with long, grey locks and a grey beard; on his head he wears a high, black cap; in his hand a staff with which he seems to measure the road. He looks down from under his heavy eyebrows; and thus, without lifting his eyes, he advances slowly and seriously to the people, and stops, leaning upon the staff with both hands._ SARAH. _Rising respectfully._ Where were you, David? DAVID. _Not lifting his eyes._ I was by the sea. SARAH. What did you do there, David? DAVID. I looked at the waves, Sarah, and asked them whence they came and whither they were going. I was thinking of life, Sarah--whence it came and whither it is going.... SARAH. What did the waves tell you, David? DAVID. They did not tell me anything, Sarah.... They come and go away again, and the man by the sea is waiting in vain for an answer from the sea. SARAH. With whom did you speak, David? DAVID. I spoke with God, Sarah. I asked Him about the fate of David Leizer, the poor Jew who is going to die soon. SARAH. _With emotion._ And what did God tell you? _David is silent, his eyes lowered._