Have you lost your mind, David? Don't listen to him. Wash yourself, Rosochka, wash yourself! Let all the people see your beauty! NAUM. _Seizing the paper._ It is ours, father. Father,--this is how God has answered you. Look at mother, look at Rosa--look at me: I was already commencing to die. PURIKES. _Shouts._ Ai, Ai, look out, they'll tear the paper. Ai, Ai, take away the paper from them, quick! _Naum cries, Rosa, radiantly beautiful, her hair wet, but no longer covering her eyes, comes over to her father, laughing._ ROSA. It is I, father! It is I! It is--I! SARAH. _Wildly._ Where were you, Rosa? ROSA. I wasn't--I've just been born, mamma! SARAH. See, David, see--a human being has just been born! Oh, look at her, every one of you! Oh, open the doors of your vision, throw open the gates of your eyes--look at her, every one of you! _Suddenly David realizes the meaning of what has happened. He throws his cap from his head, tears his clothing, which seems to suffocate him, and pushing everybody aside, rushes to Anathema._ DAVID. _Sternly._ Why have you brought this? ANATHEMA. _Meekly._ But, pardon me, Mr. Leizer, I am only a lawyer. I am sincerely glad. DAVID. Why have you brought this? _He pushes Anathema aside, and reeling, goes to the road. Suddenly he stops, turns around and shouts, flourishing his hands._ DAVID. I Drive him away--that is the Devil. Do you think he brought me four million roubles? No, he brought me four million insults. Four million mockeries he hurled upon the head of David ... Four oceans of bitter tears have I shed over life, my sighs were four winds of the earth, my four children were devoured by hunger and diseases--and now, when I must die, he brings me four millions. Will they return to me my youth which I passed in privation, oppressed with grief, wrapped with sorrows, crowned with anguish? Will they repay me for one day of my starvation, one tear that fell upon a rock, one insult hurled at my face? Four million curses--that's what your four million roubles are--oh, Hannah, oh, Benjamin, and Raphael, and my little Moishe,--you, my little birdies, who died of hunger upon the naked branches of winter--what will you say if your father should touch this money? No, I don't need any money. I am telling you--I, an old Jew, dying of hunger. I don't need any money. I don't see God in this. But I shall go to Him, I shall tell Him: What are you doing with David?--I am going. _Goes away, brandishing his hands._ SARAH. _Crying._ David, come back, come back. PURIKES. _In despair._ The paper, pick up the paper. ANATHEMA. _Turns around._