"I brought him, Rivkoly, to convince thee what a fool thou wast to assert that thou hadst seen--but _I_ mustn't be impolite," he broke off, with a coarse laugh. "There's no call for _me_ to tell the truth because it's _Yom Kippur_. Down at the Club we celebrated the occasion by something better than truth--a jolly spread! And our good friend here actually stood a bottle of champagne! Champagne, Rivkoly! Think of it! Real, live champagne, like that which fizzes and sparkles on the table of the Lord Mayor. Oh, he's a jolly good fellow! and so said all of us, too. And yet thou sayest he isn't a fellow at all." A drunken leer overspread his sallow face, and was rendered more ghastly by the flame leaping up from the expiring candle. "_Roshah_, sinner!" thundered the woman. Then looking straight into the cruel eyes of the hunchback, her wan face shining with the stress of a great emotion, her meagre form convulsed with fury, "Avaunt, _Satan Mekatrig_!" she screamed. "Get thee down from my house--get thee down. In God's name, get thee down--to hell." Even the brazen-faced hunchback trembled before her passion; but he grasped his friend's hot hand in his long, nervous fingers, and seemed to draw courage from the contact. "If I go, I take your husband!" he hissed, his great eyes blazing in turn. "He will leave me no more. Send me away, if you will." "Yes, thou must not send my friend away like this," hiccoughed Moshé Grinwitz. "Come, make him welcome, like the good wife thou wast wont to be." Rebecca uttered a terrible cry, and, cowering down on the ground, rocked herself to and fro. The drunkard appeared moved. "Get up, Rivkoly," he said, with a tremour in his tones. "To see thee one would think thou wast sitting _Shivah_ over my corpse." He put out his hand as if to raise her up. "Back!" she screamed, writhing from his grasp. "Touch me not; no longer am I wife of thine." "Hear you that, man?" said the hunchback eagerly. "You are free. I am here as a witness. Think of it; you are free."