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 sweet they smell. . . Like the rain itself. .. (She buries her face in Rifkele's hair.) Yes, I can smell the scent of the May rain in them. . . So light, so fine. . . And fresh. . . as the grass on the meadows. . . as the apple on the bough. . . So. Cool me, refresh me with your tresses. (She washes her face in Rifkele's hair.) Cool me, — so. But wait. . . I'll comb you as if you were a bride. . . a nice part and two long, black braids. (Does so.) Do you want me to, Rifkele? Do you?

Yes.

You'll be the bride. . . a beautiful bride. . . It's Sabbath eve and you are sitting with your papa and mamma at the table. . . I — I am your sweetheart. . . your bridegroom, and I've come as your guest. Eh, Rifkele? Do you like that game?

Yes, I do.

Wait, now; wait. Your father and mother have gone to sleep. The sweethearts meet here at the table. . . We are bashful. . . Eh?

Yes, Manke.