I may drag myself off after yon musicians and kalounkari.”
“Prythee, father, reflect, I have never said any such thing, although I cannot conceive how it is that these harpers have managed to grow so dear to your heart.”
“May your tongue be turned to stone!” yelled old Loyka in wrath and anguish. At that moment he was scarcely to be recognised. He seated himself, and his tongue seemed turned to stone. He wished to speak and revolved in his mind this or that sentence, but all failed him, like a broken bough. His speech was thick as though he had been drinking, and as though he had to babble instead of speaking. Then he slouched, as we say, ‘a peasant’s ell’ upon the table, leant his chin upon his hand, opened wide his eyes, half laughed and half wept at the same time, and said several times to himself “So it has come to this! so it has come to this!”
This altercation was sufficient for the first time. Motes seemed to flicker before Loyka’s old eyes, and after a considerable pause, he said “Wife, lead me to bed.” He did not even trust himself to go alone.
And the young folks took up their abode in the dwelling which had been previously occupied by their grandfather, which was called on the farm “the pension house” (na vejminku: i.e. on condition), and to which we will give the same name;
