the deserted road with her frightened, dark eyes. The sun is burning mercilessly. Anathema appears in the distance, at the turn of the road.

SARAH.

A customer!

PURIKES.

A customer!

SONKA.

A customer! A customer!

She cries again. Anathema comes nearer to them. Notwithstanding the heat, he wears a black coat of fine cloth, a black silk hat, black gloves; only his necktie is white, lending a solemn air to his costume. He is tall, and, though grey-haired, straight and stately. The face of the accursed one is of a swarthy-grey color; his features are stern and of peculiar beauty. When Anathema takes off his hat, his enormous forehead is revealed, furrowed by wrinkles. His head is unusually large and his greyish black hair is dishevelled. Anathema's neck is wiry and strong, but it is rather thin and long, and in his nervous contortions he carries his head like a heavy weight, giving it the appearance of strange inquisitiveness, restlessness and malignity.

SARAH.

Do you want perhaps a glass of soda-water, sir? It is as hot as in Hell, and if you don't drink, you may die of a sunstroke.

BEZKRAINY.

Real noblemen's cider!

PURIKES.

Violet soda! My God, violet soda!

SARAH.

Soda, seltzer!

BEZKRAINY.

Don't drink her soda-water. From her water rats are dying and roaches stand up on their hind legs.

SARAH.

Ivan, aren't you ashamed to take away a customer? I am not saying anything about your noblemen's cider, which is fit only for mad dogs to drink.

PURIKES.

Joyously.

A customer! A customer! Please don't buy anything from me, you needn't buy anything from me,—all I want is to look at you. Sonka, do you see? A buyer!

SONKA.

I don't see anything. I can't see.

Anathema lifts his hatband bows to all kindly.

ANATHEMA.

Thank you. I will drink a glass of soda-water with pleasure, and perhaps even a glass of your noblemen's cider. But I should like to know where David Leizer's business place is.

SARAH.

Surprised.

It is here. Do you want David? I am his wife, Sarah.

ANATHEMA.

Yes, madam Leizer, I want to see David, David Leizer.

SARAH.

Suspiciously.

You have come with bad news: David has no friends that wear clothes of such fine cloth as you wear. If that is so, you had better go away. David is not here, and I will not tell you where he is.

ANATHEMA.

Heartily.

Oh, no, madam, don't be uneasy; I am not bringing you any bad news. But how pleasant it is to see such love.—Do you love your husband very much, madam Leizer? He must be a very strong and healthy man, earning much money.

SARAH.

Frowning.

No, he is sick and old and unable to work. But he has not sinned against God or man in any way, and even his enemies dare not say anything bad about him. Here is some seltzer, sir, it is better than soda. And if you are not afraid of the heat, I would ask you to sit down and wait a while; David will soon be here.

ANATHEMA.

Sitting down.

Yes, I have heard many good things about your husband, but I did not know that he was so feeble and old. Have you any children, madam Leizer?

SARAH.

We had six, but the first four died....

ANATHEMA.

Nods his head compassionately.

SARAH.

Yes, we lived miserably, sir. And we have only two left. Our son Naum....

BEZKRAINY.

A good-for-nothing, who makes believe that he is sick and saunters about the city all day long.

SARAH.

Stop, Ivan, aren't you ashamed to slander honest people? Naum is going around because he has to get credit. Then, sir, we have a daughter, and her name is Rosa. But unfortunately she is too beautiful, too beautiful, sir. Happiness what is happiness? One person dies of smallpox, while another person needs smallpox, but it would not come, and the face is as pure as a flower leaf.

ANATHEMA.

Feigning amazement.

Why are you so sorry about it? Beauty is a gift from God, which He has bestowed upon man, whom he has thus elevated and brought nearer to Himself.

SARAH.

Who knows? It may be a gift from God, and it may be a gift from somebody else of whom I would not speak. But there is one thing I do not know; why has a man beautiful eyes, if he must hide them? Why has he a white face, if he must cover it with soot and filth? Beauty is a too dangerous treasure, for it is easier to hide money from a robber, than beauty from a wicked man. (Suspiciously.) Did you come perhaps to see Rosa? Then you better go away,—Rosa is not here, and I will not tell you where she is.

PURIKES.

A buyer. Sarah, look, a buyer is here.

SARAH.

Yes, yes, Purikes. But he will not buy that which he has come for, and he will not find that which he is seeking.

Anathema smiles good-naturedly and listens attentively to the conversation; every time some one begins to speak, he stretches his neck and turns his head to the speaker, holding it slightly bent on one side. He makes grimaces like an actor, expressing now amazement, now sorrow or indignation. He laughs, inappropriately, thereby frightening and surprising the people.

BEZKRAINY.

Sarah, you are making a mistake in valuing your goods too highly and not selling when people are ready to buy. Every article loses its value if you keep it too long.

SARAH

Tearfully.

What a wicked man you are, Ivan. I gave you credit for ten copecks, and you are forever slandering us.

BEZKRAINY.

Don't pay any attention to me, Sarah,—I am wicked because I am hungry. You, sir, in that black coat, go away: Sarah is an honest woman and she will not sell her daughter to you, even if you offered her a million.

SARAH.

Hotly.

That's right, Ivan, thank you. But who told you, sir, that our Rosa is beautiful? It is not true—don't laugh, it isn't true, she is as ugly as deadly sin. She is as filthy as a dog that has just crawled out of the coal-hole of a ship; her face is furrowed by smallpox and it looks like a field where people dig lime and sand; there is on her right eye a cataract as large as on an old horse. Look at her hair—it is like faded wool, half torn away by birds; and when she walks, she stoops,—I swear to you, she stoops when she walks! If you take her, everybody will laugh at you, everybody will spit at you, the street urchins will give you no rest....

ANATHEMA.

Surprised.

But, madam Leizer, I have heard—

SARAH.

Sorrowfully.

You have heard nothing! I swear to you, you have heard nothing.

ANATHEMA.

But you yourself—

SARAH.

Imploringly.

Have I said anything? My God, women are so talkative, sir; and they