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Jankiel, who was beyond measure fond of Zosia, nodded his beard

as a sign that he did not refuse. So they led him into the centre

of the company and put his instrument on his knees; he gazed on

it with delight and pride, like a veteran called back to active

service, when his grandsons take down from the wall his heavy

sword: the old man laughs, though it is long since he has had a

sword in his hand, for he feels that his hand will not yet betray

the weapon.

Meanwhile two of his pupils were kneeling by the dulcimer, tuning

the strings afresh and twanging them as a test of their work.

Jankiel with half-closed eyes sat silent and held the hammers

motionless in his fingers.

He lowered them, at first beating a triumphal measure; then he

smote the strings more briskly, as with a torrent of rain: all

were amazed, but that was only a test, for he suddenly broke off

and lifted both hammers aloft.