Again they came to a stop before the stalls of beads. How many strings there were! And how they looked! As if the whole stall were oversprinkled with precious gems: so brilliant, so resplendent! Hard, indeed, it was to take one’s eyes away from them—from those amber globules of pellucid gold, looking for all the world as if made of sweet-scented resin; and the coral drops, like threaded beads of blood; and the white pearls, as big as hazel-nuts; and those other drops of silver and of gold! Yagna tried on more than one, and made her choice of the most beautiful. At last she caught sight of one very lovely string of coral beads, passed it four times round her neck, and, turning to the old man, said: “Does it suit me? Tell me true.” “Splendidly, Yagna!—But coral beads are no strange thing to me. In a chest at my home there lies a necklace of eight rows. ’Twas my wife’s. Every bead is as big as the biggest pea.” This he said to her with studied indifference. “And what’s that to me, if it is not mine?” She flung the beads back and hastened away, moody and repining. “Yagna, let’s sit down awhile.” “I must go to mother.” “No fear of her leaving you behind.” They sat down together on the shaft of a wagon. “It’s a big fair,” remarked Boryna, looking round the market-place. “It’s not small,” she returned, casting a sorrowful glance at the stalls they had left behind them, and heaving a deep sigh. A pause ensued; then, trying to shake off her sadness, she spoke: “Ah, well it is for anyone who is a Squire! Once I saw the daughter of the Squire of Vola, with other ladies, buying, as they did at every fair, such quantities of things that they were carried by a manservant!” “‘Who goes oft to the fair shall lose all he has there.’” Boryna remarked. “The proverb is not for them.” “Not so long as they can borrow from Jews,” he answered, with such bitterness that Yagna stared at him, knowing not what to reply. Looking away from her, he asked, in a low voice: “They have been to you with a proposal from Michael, Voytek’s son, have they not?” “They went away as they came. Such a dolt, to send a proposal to me!” Boryna then rose hurriedly, taking out of his bosom a kerchief, and something else wrapped up in paper. “Keep this, Yagna; I must go to Antek.” Her eyes sparkled at the name. “Is he at the fair?” “Yes; down that lane, selling the corn.—Take this, Yagna, it is for you,” he added, seeing her gaze at the kerchief with bewildered eyes. “Do you give it me? Me—really? Oh, how pretty it is!” She unwrapped the paper. There lay the very same ribbon that had pleased her so vastly just before. “Can you be in earnest?” she exclaimed. “Why do you give me all this? It is very costly, and the kerchief is of pure silk.” “Take it, Yagna, take it, it is all bought for you. And when some peasant shall come to drink to you, do not drink back to him. Why hurry?—Now, I must go.” “Are these things my own? Say you true?” “And wherefore should I lie to you?”