“Two lunatics! One worse than the other!...” III Drabkin and Chashke were considered sweethearts. “A love-affair,” everybody would laugh. The bells rang, but it was no holiday, that is, it was merely a rumour. Drabkin was a handsome fellow. Of medium build, broad-shouldered, a fair, round face framed in a little blonde beard; a medium-sized mouth with thin, blood-red lips, above which lay a thick moustache, a well-carved nose, a high, broad forehead and a round head covered with long, thick, dark brown hair. His dark grey eyes sparkled continuously. Young girls would fall in love with him at first sight. But he paid no attention to girls. He knew very few of them and had little to do with them. He was always absorbed in his “exploiters”; he was not even aware of Chashke’s loving glances. He liked to talk with her, because she sympathised with him. She understood him and agreed with him. He could talk and talk with her forever, without getting weary. But marriage was far from his thoughts— Chashke, too, was a beautiful girl. “If my Chashke should put on fine clothes,” the old woman would say, “you couldn’t look into her face any more than you can look straight into the sun.” Of course she exaggerated a trifle, just like a mother, but by no means did she lie when she spoke thus. Chashke was somewhat shorter than Drabkin; thin, with sunken cheeks and a flat bosom. But she possessed an exquisite waist, a pretty mouth with charming lips, a straight nose, small ears and a fair forehead. But most beautiful of all were her long black tresses and her blue eyes. If she had only possessed a dowry, she would have been seized upon long before, but she did not own even a good dress. So the young fellows hovered about her for the mere sake of her company, paid her compliments, which she received, however, with a silent smile, and tried to play with her hands, which she would bashfully withdraw. She acquired a reputation as a “touch-me-not,” and the reason for this attitude was popularly attributed to the soft spot in her heart for Drabkin. And she really loved him. But it seemed to her that Drabkin would never marry. “He has no use for it.” Never had he offended her with a word, let alone a touch. He always spoke to her only about “his interests,” about justice and injustice,—sought the truth among folks and failed to find it. At such times he would spurt flames, thump the table and run madly about the room. “No,” she would tell herself. “He will not, he should not, he must not marry!” But suppose he _should_ marry her?... Oh, what a life would be hers! She would work,—work ever so hard, enough for two, and he was earning good money, besides. But she would not interfere with him in any way. Not in the slightest. Let him remain just as he was. A precious soul, indeed! Ah, Lord of the universe, what a happy existence they’d lead!... But no!... Soon children would come.... She would not be able to work. Her mother....