"Poor as poor can be. Ten traders threw themselves on every cart-load of corn brought in by the peasants, raised the price, then came to an agreement, promised cession money, and bought it in common; but not one of the ten could find in his pockets the wherewith to pay, and they borrowed money on interest. There were one hundred tailors to a pair of trousers; fifty cobblers to put in one patch. In all my born days I never saw such poverty. "We kept away from the town as much as possible--the happy are selfish. "But somehow we could not help noticing a young housewife opposite, not more than eighteen or twenty at most, and we could neither of us take our eyes off her, and she, apparently, couldn't take hers off us. It was an unusual sight. Imagine a beauty, a perfect picture, set in a frame as dirty as only a Jewish window in a small town can be, beneath a dreadfully bent roof. Imagine a pair of sad, soft, dreamy eyes in an alabaster white face and under a hair-band. "She made a terribly sad impression on us. "For hours together she would stand leaning in the window, her fingers twisted together, staring at us, or else at the stars, and swallowing her tears. We saw that she was always alone (your men never have any time to spare), always unhappy and wistful. Her face spoke for her. She is a stranger here, we decided; she has come from a larger house, less shut in, and she longs to be far away; her heart yearns after a freer life. She also wanted to live, to live and to be loved. No, you may say what you like, but you _do_ sometimes sell your daughters. It is true that after a while they forget. They are pious and good and patient, but who shall count the tears that fall over their saddened faces till the store is exhausted? Or note what the heart suffers till it resigns itself to its living death? And why should it be so? Just because they are good and pious? You should have seen the husband--yellow, shrunk together. I saw him twice a day--go out in the morning and come home at night. "A shame!" You will believe that I had no answer ready. We were both silent for a time, and then Polnivski went on: "Once we missed her. She did not appear at the window all day. "She must be ill, we thought. "That evening the husband came in--the yellow creature--and asked for a remedy. "'What sort?' "'I don't know,' he said; 'a remedy.' "'For whom?' "'You want to know that, too? For my wife.' "'What is wrong with her?' "'I'm sure I don't know. She says, her heart hurts her.' "And that," said Polnivski, "was the occasion of our becoming acquainted. I won't be long about it. I am a bit of a doctor, too, and I went back with him." Polnivski had begun to talk in broken sentences; he looked for cigarettes; at last he broke off altogether, opened his travelling-bag and commenced to hunt for matches. Meantime I was tormented by suspicions. I now looked at Polnivski with other eyes; his story had begun to pain me.