el was again seated
at the top, between the two women before mentioned, whose perfumes went
to her head.

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 _decollete_, 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:

"What can have caused it? Lie down! How do you feel now? Perhaps you
would like a sip of lemonade?" they all asked.

"Thank you, I want nothing, I feel better already, leave me alone for a
while. I shall soon recover myself, and be all right."

So Gittel was left alone, and she breathed more easily, her head stopped
aching, she felt like one let out of prison, only there was a pain at
her heart. The tears which had choked her all day now began to flow, and
she wept abundantly. The music never ceased playing, she heard the sound
of the dancers' feet and the directions of the master of ceremonies; the
floor shook, Gittel wept, and tried with all her might to keep from
sobbing, so that people should not hear and come in and disturb her. She
had not wept so since the death of her husband, and this was the wedding
of her favorite son!

By degrees she ceased to weep altogether, dried her eyes, and sat
quietly talking to herself of the many things that passed through her
he