“That is good news.—Pray go out and see, for if I mistake not, the Jews are coming at last, and we must take the cow out of the byre.” “You are right: it is the Jews—who but they? Yes, it is.—Poisonous creatures!” she exclaimed with abhorrence. Along a pathway just visible by the marks of Staho’s boots, made when he went out in the morning, there came two Jews from the tavern, heavily plodding along, followed by half the dogs in the village (that greatly enjoyed this opportunity to bark at them) until Antek arrived and drove them away. “Oh, how do you do?—We come late, on account of the snow.—Such drifts!—No driving through them, no getting through on foot even, I tell you. They have had to employ forced labour to make the road passable through the forest.” To these attempts at conversation he replied nothing, but made them enter his hut to warm themselves a little. Hanka, having cleaned the cow’s soiled flanks and milked away what had gathered since the morning, brought her through the room into the yard. The cow made resistance, unwilling to go out; on passing the threshold, she sniffed, stretched her head forth into the air, licked the snow, and on a sudden burst into long plaintive lowing, pulling so hard at the rope that old Bylica could scarcely hold her. Hanka broke down. Seized with an unbearable pang, she burst out crying, as did the children too, holding to their mother’s skirt. Nor was Antek in much better mood. He ground his teeth, leaned back against the cabin wall, and stared doggedly at a lot of crows that had assembled on the snow dug from the pit. The dealers meanwhile jabbered in Yiddish to each other, and proceeded to feel the cow and examine her critically. The whole family, sick at heart, turned away in deep dejection from the beast tugging at her halter and vainly looking to her masters with great frightened eyes, and lowing in vain. “O Lord!—Was it for this, Krasula, that I fed you so well, and cared for all your wants, that these men should now take you to the slaughter-house, and destroy you!” And in agony she struck the cabin wall with her head. Alas! Wailing and lamenting were of no avail; for “What needs must be—no man can flee,” as the saying is. “How much?” the elder of the couple, a grey-bearded Jew, asked at last. “Three hundred _zloty_.”[4] ----- Footnote 4: In view of the bargaining that ensues, this must be counted as 45 roubles.—_Translator’s Note._ “What! for that scraggy brute—three hundred?—Anthony, is aught the matter with you?” “Scraggy? Say ye no such word, or ye shall rue it! Scraggy! Look but at her—so young—scarce in her fifth year—and in such goodly condition!” So spoke Hanka, enraged. “Pshaw! Pshaw! Who doth business, a word shall not anger him.—Say thirty roubles!” “I have spoken.” “And I shall speak. Thirty-one?... Well, thirty-one and a half.—Thirty-two?—Then let it be thirty-two and a half.... It’s a bargain?” “I have said.”