She felt so queer and so ill at ease that she could not partake of the dinner, her mouth seemed locked, and the tears came in her eyes.
When they rose from table, Gittel sought out a place removed from the "upper end," and sat down in a window, but presently the bride's mother, also in decolleté, caught sight of her, and went and took her by the hand.
"Why are you sitting here, Mechuteneste? Why are you not at the top?"
"I wanted to rest myself a little."
"Oh, no, no, come and sit there," said the lady, led her away by force, and seated her between the two ladies with the perfumes.
Long, long did she sit, feeling more and more sick and dizzy. If only she could have poured out her heart to some one person, if she could have exchanged a single word with anybody during that whole evening, it would have been a relief, but there was no one to speak to. The music played, there was dancing, but Gittel could see nothing more. She felt an oppression at her heart, and became covered with perspiration, her head grew heavy, and she fell from her chair.
"The bridegroom's mother has fainted!" was the outcry through the whole room. "Water, water!"
They fetched water, discovered a doctor among the guests, and he led Gittel into another room, and soon brought her round.
The bride, the bridegroom, the bride's mother, and the two ladies ran in:
