He really meant it. He wished her to forget her grievance, to be kind once again, to fondle him as before. He approached the table and pinched her cheek. She thrust his hand aside. “Away from me!” “Psh, psh, psh! What an angry lady!”... He sat down nearby and placed his arms about her waist. “Better go away before I get angry!” she cried, tearing herself from his grasp. He pressed her close to him, bent her head toward his and began to kiss her, stifling her outcries with his lips. She seized the glass of hot tea, but he snatched it away from her grasp. Only with the greatest effort did she tear herself free. “I’ll break your head for you!” she screamed, jumping to her feet. He laughed with a passionate, repulsive laughter. The shadow of his repulsive, passionate laughter still lay upon his lips when he went back to his work. He still felt the kisses upon his lips and felt, too, that he was sated and that his heart was eased. He attacked his work with a happy will and knew that, in the end, to-morrow or the day after, Chyenke would be won over. He forgot the whole world. X That evening Chashke and her old mother came for a visit. They were curious to know the state of affairs in Drabkin’s household and how the matter had turned out. “Ah, Chashke!” cried Drabkin with forced gaiety. He had not at all wished her to come. She brought back to him memories of the olden days, of things he no longer wished to recall. She made him feel, moreover, a keen sense of his present subjection. He was ashamed and remained working at his bench. Chyenke, however, was glad to see them. She wanted to show them that _she_ was the boss, and that he lay meekly at her feet. And let his former sweetheart see how he loved his wife, how he fawned upon her. And let Chashke burst with vexation and jealousy! “Well, how are things with you?” inquired the old woman. Chashke did not care to ask. Already she sensed everything and felt superfluous in Drabkin’s home. “How should things be?” replied Chyenke, in a triumphant voice. “Not so bad. He’s changed his mind, my wise man, my know-it-all. Oho! Now, it seems he would like to....” She did not say what he would like to do, but nodded her head in Drabkin’s direction with a glance and with an expression on her face that spoke far more plainly than words. He did not raise his head and feigned deep absorption in his work. Chashke blushed for him. The room began to feel too narrow for her. She must run away, run away—she sat there as if on burning coals. The old woman, on the other hand, was soon engrossed in chatter. “I told him from the very first that you were as clever a woman as I knew, upon my soul, and my Chashke told him, too, that it couldn’t be otherwise, and that he’d be foolish to attempt it.”