He shut his eyes and tried to remember. Was it at Abraham Baer’s? Or at ... at.... Where the devil had they worked together?... No, he could not recall it. But he recalled distinctly that she was a good pocketbook-maker. And once she came into his hands he’d make an expert of her. Chashke’s figure still kept looming before him, yet he imagined that he was thinking of Chyenke and beholding her. When Chashke came home that evening he at once related the proposed match to her and asked her advice. Chashke turned pale and then red. “Oh, what a terrible headache I have to-day!” she answered, with a quiver in her voice. Drabkin believed her headache. So did her mother. “Probably choked with bad air,” murmured the old woman. “Over in her shop they’re all afraid they’ll freeze. Destruction seize them! I’ll take the hot water out of the oven and you’ll bathe your head and feel better.” In this way she poured out her heart upon the heads of Chashke’s employers. For her heart was sorely embittered: all along she had looked upon Drabkin as her Chashke’s future husband. Chashke was silent. Drabkin looked at her, waiting for a reply. “Perhaps you know this Chyenke?” he began anew. “They say she’s a splendid girl.” “What should I know? It looks like a good proposition. Five hundred roubles. And Chyenke, from what I know of her, is really a splendid girl. Good luck to you!” Yet at the last words her voice trembled. The old woman spoke nothing to spoil the match, and became enraged against Chyenke and her five hundred roubles,—against Drabkin, against Chashke, against herself and her whole life of poverty. She restrained her tears and prepared many a complaint for the Lord of the universe. Meanwhile Drabkin was laying his plans. He spoke in a merry mood and did not notice the grief about him. He noticed it, however, a few days later, when he entered the house in glee and announced that the betrothal was to take place the following day. Chashke turned pale, seized her breast and nearly swooned. His words died on his lips: now he understood everything. “Chashke, what’s the matter?” he cried, in his fright, although he knew very well what was the matter. He brought her a glass of water. The old woman danced about her daughter and Drabkin stood there, overwhelmed. Tears came to his eyes. Now, for the first time, he understood why, in the past few days, Chashke had come so often before his eyes when he spoke of the other girl. For the first time he realised whom he really needed. He was seized with an impulse to rush over to Chashke, embrace her, throw his arms about her neck, kiss her, and swear to her that he would marry only her.... He dashed into his room in distraction, pale, agitated. “What madness has possessed him?” asked the old woman angrily. And Chashke began to weep even more bitterly, and pressed her breast harder than ever. V