“Seat yourself here.—You have shamed me before all men; you have beaten me so, they had to call the priest in! But I bear you no grudge, fellow, and come first with words of peace.—Here, drink with me, boy! No man had ever beaten me, and I thought no man could.—Wondrously strong you are, truly!—To toss up a man like me as a truss of straw ... good heavens!” “Ye were ever harrying me as I worked.... And then ye let out foul speech: it made me furious, I knew not what I did.” “Yes, you speak true, and I confess it: not from fear, but with a willing mind.—But how ye did clapperclaw me! Why, I lost my best blood, and have many a rib broken.... Well, to you, Antek, I drink.—What, man! forgive and let hate die! I, too, forget all ... as well as my shoulders will let me!... But are you indeed stronger than Vavrek of Vola?” “Did I not, on Indulgence Day, last harvest-time, thrash him so that I hear he is not well yet?” “Vavrek! They told me that, but I would not believe it.... Here, you Jew! Rum! And ‘essence’ to flavour it this instant, or I trounce you soundly!” “But ... ye vaunted of something in public,” Antek said, lowering his voice; “surely it was not true?” “Nay, I spoke out of spite and at random. Nay, how could that be true?”—But, as he made this denial, he held the bottle to the light, looking through, lest Antek should read the truth in his eyes. They drank once, then once more; then it was Antek’s turn to stand treat, and they emptied their glasses anew. And so they sat, quite as brothers, and on such friendly terms that all in the tavern were amazed. Matthew, who had taken more than a drop too much, yelled to the musicians to play faster, stamped and roared with laughter, and then spoke in Antek’s ear. “So much is true: I did long for her to be mine; but she scratched me so, I was like one dragged face down through the brambles. Yes, she preferred you, I know it well; and even had she not, she would never have cared for me. ’Tis hard to lead an ox against its will. And I was sorely, how sorely! stung with jealousy. The girl is wonderfully fair—none fairer in the world. But how she ever could marry that old man—and to your hurt—I cannot think!” “To my hurt? Aye, and for my perdition too!” Antek began, but stopped short. Here his memory kindled within him such a flame that he muttered an inaudible oath, and said no more. “Peace, lest tale-bearers hear you!” “What have I said?” “Nothing that I could hear; but others might.” “It is unbearable—my heart is torn asunder!” “I tell you: while ye can, get the better of it!” he said, cunningly striving to win his confidence little by little. “Can I do so? Since love, far worse than sickness, burns in the bones, festers in the heart, and fills me with such craving, I can neither eat nor work nor sleep, and would like to dash my brains out to rid me of my life!”