"Now exchange rings," says Daimona to the couples. "They are in this covered plate. Those of the one couple are of gold and silver; the gold one is the bride's; the silver, the bridegroom's. The rings of the second couple are of copper and lead." The wedding-mother, removing the silken cover from the plate, signed to Diabolka to set the example. Diabolka, taking the gold and silver ring, placed the gold one on her own finger, and was handing the silver one to Schinko. Daimona seized Diabolka's hand. "Not so! You will give the silver ring to Vuk; and Schinko the copper one to Polyka. _For your bridegroom is Vuk, and Schinko's bride is Polyka._ That is the arrangement." A burst of loud laughter followed upon these words. Now there would be some real fun. Diabolka and Vuk, Polyka and Schinko. The wedding-mother had the right to marry her serfs as she chose. Her serfs belonged to her, hand and foot, as did her horses and her asses. She can pair her serfs as she chooses. The laughter of the assembled guests grew louder as the two drunken monsters, at Daimona's words, threw themselves on the handsome prey given over to them. Their laughter was only stopped when Diabolka, before them all, gave Vuk such a blow on the chest with both hands that he went backwards off the table, and, rolling from the tribune, fell among the people. Things were indeed going badly. Daimona, springing towards the table like a fury, struck her fist violently upon it. At that sound the spectators' laughter suddenly ceased. The grin was still on their faces, but every sound died away on their laughing lips. It was fun no longer. "You will not take the husband I have chosen for you?" shrieked Daimona, in fury. "No," returned the girl, stamping her foot, "no!" "Dog! gypsy devil! You dare to oppose me--me, who raised you from a dung-heap!" "Then let me go back to the dung-heap." "So you shall! If you will not have the bridegroom I have given you, then take off the bridal dress I gave you, and be off in the gypsy rags you came in. But they want something to complete them--the addition of a thrashing for your audacity. Schinko! Here!" He himself, her elder brother, her lover, her bridegroom! Schinko was wearing, as bridegroom, the symbol of his office hanging from his girdle--the short-handled whip. At his mistress's command he raised the whip. "Strike!" ordered Daimona. The girl, white with fear, held her face between her hands. "Brother, can you strike me?" She had even got so far as to fear the lash. Or was it the thought that it was Schinko's hand which was to strike that made her shrink back? The gypsy's heart was not hard enough to let him strike the blow. He threw the whip away. "Dog, pick up that whip; or shall I have you and her tied together to the tail of a wild horse? Go on. Slash away until I say enough; fifty lashes for me, fifty for Junker Jevgen." Schinko picked up the whip.