Two weddings were taking place simultaneously. The chauffeur looked sadly at his wife, who was seven years older than him, and at his newlywed son-in-law, thirty years older than him, and it was difficult to calculate how much older he was than his wife's stepdaughter, whom the chauffeur cast longing glances at, and hard to calculate indeed. But the women were satisfied: the widow, receiving such a young and handsome husband, the father of her child, was so grateful to Aman-Jalil that she forgave some "trifles," such as the death of Sardar Ali, a friend of her family, violence against her daughter, and even the forced husband imposed on her, at the sight of whom she felt nauseated. Gulshan, for her part, was very pleased that her husband was so old and ugly.

"Ugly! Not even a thought will come to lie with you in bed at such a mournful moment. Sits there as if he's at a funeral," – thought Gulshan, pretending to be a happy bride.

Everything imaginable was on the table. Aman-Jalil spared no expense, asked all merchants for an additional tax, and they brought the freshest, best of everything. Usually, every wedding invites the zurna musicians, an ensemble of eastern instruments: tar, kamancheh, zurna, nagara. But Aman-Jalil decided to impress and invited a brass band as well. The brass band played waltzes, polkas, and marches while guests drank and ate. During the change of dishes, for rest, the quartet played "shur" or the tarist mournfully sang a long mugham. Specifically at Aman-Jalil's request, a famous baritone, Baybulat, came and sang several classical arias. After receiving the agreed sum in a sealed envelope, he habitually put the money in his pocket without opening it, preparing to leave for his next performance, but Aman-Jalil invited him to stay. The celebrity dared not refuse, although he was not supposed to receive the next fee. Invited to the table, as always, he drank, boasted, and flirted with the young daughters and wives of Aman-Jalil's colleagues. But the guests envied his presence and forgave his little jokes: this celebrity did not visit ordinary mortals, and his fees were breathtaking.

The old bridegroom stared blankly at the people gathered in his house: all strangers, he had never seen them before, except for Aman-Jalil, with whom he had had a preliminary conversation that the old man couldn't recall without shuddering. He already quietly hated his young wife, five months pregnant, for the second day since she moved in, acting as if she had grown up here, the mistress… "And her mother, damn sluts, looks so foolish: she gazes, silly thing, like a love-struck girl at the young husband, and he gazes at her daughter. Well, what a family! What's happening in this world, everything has turned upside down: the young marry old men, I'm fit to be her grandfather, and the young marry old women, but this marriage is beyond my understanding. In the past, such marriages were only for convenience, but what convenience can this young lad have? The widow has no money, although what kind of widow is she, damn it, she's not even a widow yet. I should kick them all to the devil! Just stand up and curse: 'go to such-and-such's mother!' As for me, this devil will kill my Javanshir right away, and I'm ready to give everything, sacrifice everything for the sake of saving my only child. For my boy, I'm ready to crawl on my knees before them. But this young slut, I'll get my revenge, I've already figured out how I'll do it… And what a wedding I had forty years ago, no one then thought about a coup, what a life it was under Renke, oh, what a life. Recently heard on the radio how a famous actress gave an interview: sweetly praised Iosif Besarionis's bloody regime, talked about how everyone lives well, but when asked how she envisions our bright future, she replied that when everything is like under Renke, stores are full of goods, you can freely travel abroad… and something else similar, I don't remember anymore. I'm sure all the radio workers involved in that broadcast were either fired, imprisoned, or even shot… For Javanshir, I made a deal that compared to it, selling my damn soul is nothing."

Aman-Jalil soon led the "newlyweds" into the bedroom. They bid them farewell with laughter, greasy jokes, and vile suggestions. Gulshan looked at Aman-Jalil in fear. "Is he really going to lay her down with the old man? Does he want to amuse himself?"

But Aman-Jalil, unabashed, stripped naked and climbed into the bed prepared for the "newlyweds."

– Undress and come to me, – he ordered Gulshan. – Or do you fancy this old man? So I'll get up… Just not to give him a place, but to kill him.

Gulshan began to undress, but she felt ashamed, blushed, and looked imploringly at Aman-Jalil.

– What, does this old prick bother you? – the brazen man taunted. – Hey, old prick, did you hear? You're bothering your lawful wife. And every word of hers is law to you. Bring a small table, put wine and fruit on it, and disappear. There's a small closet nearby, you haven't forgotten it, I think tonight you'll spend it there so that the guests think you're sleeping in tender maiden embraces… Oh, before I forget: take the sheet stained with blood from my bag, in two hours come out to the guests and show it with a happy face. Got it?

The old "bridegroom" nodded grimly. Aman-Jalil frowned.

– Didn't hear, say it again!

– In two hours, with a happy face, I'll come out to the guests and demonstrate the symbol of her innocence. If the guests don't die of laughter, they'll be satisfied.

– If someone starts dying of laughter, they'll report to me, I'll help him… die.

The old "bridegroom" set a table next to the bed, put wine and fruit on it, took out from Aman-Jalil's bag a sheet pre-prepared with signs of someone's innocence, and went to the closet located next to the bedroom.

Gulshan slowly undressed, feeling unusual excitement and novelty. Being five months pregnant, she had never really known a man until now. This was truly her first wedding night. Gulshan turned off the light and lay in the bridal bed next to her lover, the father of her future child.

Meanwhile, her lawful husband lay sleepless in the closet, thinking about his son, about the immense sacrifices he would make in the name of saving his life, waiting for the stipulated time when they would come for him, and he would have to play the comedy, affirming the innocence of his imposed wife, who was not his wife, and therefore acknowledge himself as the father of another's child, all in the name of saving his…

And this shameful moment came. Aman-Jalil's men went after him and led him to the guests. The guests greeted the "happy bridegroom" with drunken, sated laughter. Pretending to be overjoyed, the unfortunate husband and father unfolded the sheet and demonstrated fresh blood stains. Welcoming cries, approving shouts, even rowdy remarks filled the air. But only for a moment did silence fall, a neighbor of the old man's sneered from across the street:

– You can work miracles like a saint. However, no saint has ever performed such a miracle, you're the first.