On Saturday evening he went home, but was so tired out that he fell asleep over his meal; and he slept almost the whole of the next day. He did not rise from his straw bed till the afternoon, when, dressing very finely, he sat down to a dinner of plentifully heaped-up dishes, with all the women in attendance about him, as about some grand personage, attentive to his least sign, and ever supplying him with more and more to eat; then he, having filled himself to the utmost, loosened his girdle, stretched his limbs in lordly fashion, and cried merrily: “Many thanks, good Mother!—And now, let us go and enjoy ourselves in some measure!” So he started for the tavern with Nastka; and Matthew went too, along with Teresa. Before him, the Jew bowed down to his waist, set vodka on the table without being asked, and called him “Master!” which puffed Simon up not a little. He drank as much as behoved him to drink, thrust himself amongst the foremost men there, and gave his opinion about everything. The tavern was full, and the band playing to increase the enjoyment; but dancing had not as yet begun. They only drank one to another, and complained of the drought, of the hard times, and so on, as usual. Even the Borynas and the smith and his wife came; but these engaged the private bar, where they must have enjoyed themselves pretty well; for the Jew was again and again taking vodka and beer in to regale them. “Antek is staring at his wife to-day like a dog at a marrow-bone: he’s not the same man any more!” Ambrose grunted sullenly, glancing towards the parlour bar, from whence there arose a pleasant sound of joyful voices. Yagustynka’s reply came pat: “Because he prefers his own clog to a boot that goes on all men’s feet!” “Aye,” someone returned; “but such boots do not pinch!” And the whole tavern was in a roar; they all knew well who was meant. Simon had not heard and did not laugh. Somewhat the worse for liquor, he was putting his arms round Andrew’s neck, and saying to him: “And you must now remember what I am, and be obedient to me!” “I ... I know well,” the other stammered, with maudlin tears. “But then, Mother commands ... commands....” “Mother counts no longer! I am a landholder: hearken unto me!” But now the band had struck up a dancing-tune; and as heels began to stamp and boards to resound and couples to spin, Simon seized Nastka by the waist, threw his capote open, set his cap at an angle, and, bawling “Da dana!” with the best of them, and stamping the loudest of all, he launched into the dance, whirling giddily and rolling along, blithe, noisy, clamorous—like a torrent in spate!