“If you will,” the smith’s wife murmured, “let the settlement stand, but settle the rest of your property on us.” “Look at that simpleton! Going to divide my land, eh? No, I’ll never take board and lodgings from you.—I have spoken.” “We will not give in! We will have justice!” “If I but take my stick to you, I’ll give you justice!” “Try but to touch us!—You’d not live till the wedding!” And now the squabble began in earnest; they rushed forwards, threatening; they beat the table with their fists, they shouted aloud all their grievances, all their injuries. Antek, in his anger, forgot himself so far as again and again to clutch his father by the shoulder, even by the throat, so furious was he; but the old man was yet master of himself. He wished to have no fight, and merely pushed him aside, seldom replying to insults, and unwilling to have the whole village taking part in his affairs. But the noise and confusion in the room waxed louder and louder; for both the women were weeping and pouring forth invectives alternately, while the children screamed so that both Kuba and Vitek came round from the farm-yard and peeped in at the window. Hanka, leaning against the chimney penthouse, here burst into a torrent of tears and words: “Yes, we shall have to go out into the world and beg our bread! O Lord, good Lord!... we that have toiled like oxen!... What have we now of our labour?... Ah, God will avenge this wrong of ours!... His judgment will be upon you!... Six whole acres settled—and mother’s clothing and beads given away ... everything! And to whom, great God?... To that swine!... Oh! wanton and harlot as you are! For the wrong you are doing us, may you end in a ditch some day!” “What do you say?” the old man shrieked, darting furiously towards her. “That she is a harlot and a wanton—as all the village and all the world knows!” “Woe betide you! I’ll beat your foul mouth to pulp!” He seized and shook her; but Antek leaped forwards to protect her, and shouted in his turn: “And I say it too: she is a wanton, a harlot, and anyone may know her that cares!”—But he said no more. Boryna, in a paroxysm of rage, struck him such a blow in the face that he fell with his head breaking the pane of a glazed press, which he brought to the floor with him. Springing up instantly, streaming with blood, he charged his father. They both rushed at each other like mad dogs, with a mutual clutch, driving and being driven backward and forward about the room, pushing and hurling one another against the bed, the great trunk, the walls, till their heads rang again. A horrible outcry arose: the womenfolk tried to separate them, but they rolled down upon the floor, so closely gripped in hatred that they turned over and over, each strangling each, each crushing the other, as best he could. By great good fortune, the neighbours ran in while it was time, and separated them.