same roof with a pack of strolling scamps, with whom one loses caste, because that class of menials deems itself our equal. And a dubious light is thrown on the management of an estate which fosters vagabonds.
Here Loyka’s aged wife recognised to her surprise that a crisis had come, (lit: the sickle had come to the grindstone) and that she must not easily yield.
“We hand over the estate to you in excellent order, and it would be well if there were never any worse things to complain of,” said she.
“Still, for my part, I could not bear to live in a building where everybody thought that he had the right of entrance, just as though it was an alehouse. Joseph will see to it that this rabble of vagabonds does not take up its quarters here a night longer,” added the young bride with the same asperity.
“Joseph?” said Loyka’s aged wife, and it was half an interrogation and half an asservation that Joseph would do no such thing. She pronounced it with a taunting smile as if she had said to Barushka “You are quite mistaken in Joseph, I assure you.”
“Yes, Joseph,” said Barushka.
“Joseph see to it that the musicians be warned off the farm who have been here all their lives,” enquired the elder peasant woman in the same manner.
“What has been need not be always. There are things which after a time go out of fashion.”
