Champagne
Gruna (striding toward her threateningly)
Quiet, you hussy! (She draws back suddenly.) You smell of—whiskey, you smell of…
(Gruna tremblingly creeps to the table and gropes for it to keep from falling.)
Hadas
You lie! Whiskey! That's what your daughter drank with her beggarly peasant. That's what she's come to—whiskey!
Dvorah
Will you shut up, hussy!
Hadas
No! She drinks whiskey—with that Russian clown. A thick throat he has like a wine cellar—wears a coarse blouse…(She chuckles softly to herself.)
(Dvorah runs to her basket, snatches it up, spills her wares in her excitement and hurriedly gathers them together again.)
Dvorah
I’ll kill her! (She goes.)
Gruna (pitifully broken)
Not that did I mean! Not that! God —not that! Not so far! (Reproaching God.) Ah! You had no pity! Punished! Punished! And so hard—so hard!
Hadas (chuckling to herself very softly)
Cham-pag-ne!!!
Curtain
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