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JUDITH TRACHTENBERG

A Novel

By KARL EMIL FRANZOS

AUTHOR OF "FOR THE RIGHT" ETC.

TRANSLATED BY

(Mrs.) L. P. and C. T. LEWIS

NEW YORK

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE

1891

Copyright, 1891, by Harper & Brothers.

All rights reserved.

JUDITH TRACHTENBERG.

CHAPTER I.

About sixty years ago, during the reign of the Emperor Francis the First, there lived in a small town in Eastern Galicia an excellent man, who had been greatly favored by fortune. His name was Nathaniel Trachtenberg; his occupation was that of a chandler. He had inherited from his father a modest business, which he had increased by his energy and perseverance, by adding to it the manufacture of wax candles, and by the admirable quality of his goods. Possibly, also, by the wise moderation he used in demanding payment, which had secured nearly all the noble families of the country as his patrons.

His intellectual progress kept pace with his increase of riches. Richly endowed by nature, he acquired, by his intercourse with those of superior position and by the numerous journeys he made to the West for business purposes, a higher degree of culture than was usual with his co-religionists of that period. He spoke and wrote German fluently; he read the Vienna papers regularly, and even occasionally a poet, such as Schiller or Lessing.

But, no matter how widely his opinions might vary from those of his less-cultivated co-religionists as to the aims and purposes of life, he bound himself closely to them in matters of dress and style of living, and not only conformed to every command of the Law, but carried out every injunction of the rabbis with punctilious exactitude.

"You do not know the atmosphere we breathe," he was accustomed to say to his progressive Jewish friends in Breslau and Vienna. "It does not matter as to my opinion of the sinfulness of carrying a stick on the Sabbath, but it is important to prove to them by the example of a man they respect that one may read German books, talk with Christians in correct German, and still be a pious Jew. Therefore it would be a sin if my talar were replaced by a German coat. Do you suppose, either, it would bring me closer to the gentry? No, indeed. They would only regard it as an impotent attempt to raise myself to their level. So we better-educated Jews must remain as we are for the present, at least, as regards externals." This was the result of serious conviction, he always added; and how serious, he proved by the method of education which he pursued with his two children, his wife having died while she was still quite young.

There was a boy, Raphael, and a girl, Judith. The latter gave promise of great beauty. Both received a careful education, in accordance with the requirements of the age, from a tutor, one Herr Bergheimer, who had been brought from Mayence by Trachtenberg. But their religious training was cared for by the father himself. "I will not say," he once told the tutor, "whether or not I consider it a misfortune to have been born a Jew. I have my own ideas on the subject, which might shock your simple faith. Whether good or ill, it is our fate, and must be borne with equanimity. Therefore I wish my children educated with the most profound reverence for Judaism. The humiliations which will come to them because of their nation I can neither prevent nor modify, so I wish they should have the comfort of feeling in their struggles in life that they are suffering for something which is dear to them and is worth the pain."

With this feeling he strove to stifle in their minds every germ of hatred towards Christians, and at the same time he early accustomed them to the idea that, sooner or later, they must run the gantlet because of their creed, and even because of the cast of their features.

"They must learn to endure," he would say, with a sad smile. And so he allowed Raphael and Judith to associate with Christian children belonging to families who, for private reasons, were glad to pay some attention to the wealthy Jewish fabricant.

Trachtenberg thought this intercourse of small consequence, never dreaming it might exercise an influence over the character of his children quite the opposite of that he would like. And it could not but make an impression on the youthful minds growing up on a borderland where the musty air of the Ghetto mingled with another air no whit purer, compounded, as it was, of the incense of a fanatical creed and the pestilential gases of decaying Polish aristocracy.

Separated from the Jewish children of the town by mode of life, manner of speech, and learning, they were not less divided from their Christian play-fellows by instinct and prejudices which made a really hearty sympathy and intercourse impossible. Whoever looks into a child's heart knows well it can surrender every other necessity than that of loving and being loved. No matter how much the father might attempt to prevent a feeling of isolation for his darlings, the time came when, of necessity, he acknowledged to himself that he had not properly appreciated the bitterness which this feeling aroused, and when he was forced to stand by and look on helplessly as they sought for companionship with others of the same age.

This happened when Raphael had reached his twenty-first and Judith her nineteenth year. They had just completed a course of dancing lessons, held in the house of Herr von Wroblewski, a magistrate, and one of Trachtenberg's most expensive acquaintances.

Raphael, who was weary of bearing slights because of his curly hair and round eyes, resolved, bitterly, that he would never again enter the house of a Christian, but would find associates among those to whom he belonged by race and common woe.

Judith's experience was just the contrary. She felt more and more at home among her Christian friends; and went to her Hebrew lessons with a frown. But their father's authority prevented any complete change in their way of life, so they complied with his requirements just as little as they could. The wise man recognized the fact that his intentions were combated by the strongest of human emotions--self-satisfaction on the one side, on the other injured self-love.

Poor Raphael was doubly hateful to his partners in the dance because he was a Jew, whereas the premature beauty of his sister entranced her youthful admirers, because they could cherish hopes as regarded her on account of her race which would not have entered their minds towards a girl belonging to their own class.

At times it troubled Trachtenberg's mind lest this "childishness" should have a permanent influence upon their lives. But accustomed, as he had been for so many years, to keen calculation rather than to doubtful presentiments, he felt his forebodings vanish when he remembered his carefully laid plans for the future, which he thought could not be interfered with by these inclinations, but, so he sometimes sought to persuade himself, were even promoted by them.

He had intended his son for the law, not only because, like the rest of his race, he considered a diploma of a doctor of laws the highest of honors, but because he aspired to have him a model and a champion for his co-religionists. As Raphael was to pass his life in Galicia, it was well he should have this feeling for the oppressed awakened early, since it would nerve him for his destined work; while Judith, whom her father proposed to marry to some enlightened and educated German Jew, could best acquire that knowledge of etiquette and refinement which she would need in her future home in Christian society.

Influenced by these considerations, Trachtenberg allowed matters to take their own course as long as he feared no break in their mutual affection. But their relations were becoming more and more strained, and it was difficult for the father to decide which was most to blame. The alienation which had arisen did not spring from lack of love, or from difference in mental constitution.

Moreover, Raphael and Judith bore not the slightest physical resemblance to each other, he being an awkward, haggard youth with a pale, sharply cut face, above which was a forest of crinkly-black hair; while she was a sweet, delicate rosebud of a girl, her beautiful brow crowned with masses of rich auburn hair; and although her cheerfulness and love of gayety contrasted strongly with his morose and gloomy manners, yet in vital matters they showed they were children of the same mother.

Both were gifted, sensitive, and fastidious; both ambitious and proud; both self-conscious to defiance, and each dearer to the other than life. It was this very equality of mental capacity that divided and embittered them. Each thought his own inclination the only right one, sensible, and just; each felt sorely wounded at the other's reproof; each worried about the other's future, and treasured up accidental or slighting observations relating to the other. She remembered the contemptuous sneer of the Polish ladies at the "gloomy follower of the Talmud;" he, every poisonous jest of the Ghetto about the "renegade."

And so it came to pass that, though their love was really intact, yet outwardly they were almost in open warfare, and, urged on by pride and defiance, they went further than they themselves would have thought possible. Because Judith despised Jewish acquaintances, Raphael swore enmity towards all Christians; and because he became more and more observant of the ritual, she neglected it altogether.

But their acquaintances were the chief cause of contention. She made fun of his friends in the Ghetto, their modes of speech, thought, and life; and indeed she had sufficient cause. Raphael never wearied of speaking disdainfully of the magistrate and his social circle, and he required no power of invention to find grounds for his criticisms.

Herr Ludwig von Wroblewski was in position, though not in public estimation, the most important man in the town; for the people could not pardon certain traits which, good in themselves, were not in him because of his office. While many men in similar position, with antiquated ideas, tried to supervise the entire parish, urging the rate-payers to improve their roads and bridges, he was of the opinion that full-grown men ought to be able to manage their own affairs best; and while they hunted down criminals, he, so it appeared, thought the consciousness of crime sufficient punishment for the evil-doer. Squabbles about money and land were painful to him also, if plaintiff and defendant happened to be poor people, in which case he found it best to let the case slide. When, however, it was otherwise, he gave his undivided attention; and while other judges contented themselves with acting upon the written case, he allowed each party to present his arguments cum solo. There were few judges who were so careful, under such circumstances, to be just to each. For instance, if the plaintiff brought a thousand proofs and the defendant but five hundred, he gave himself no rest till he had produced another five hundred. This, of course, delayed justice very much. If there was no other way, Herr von Wroblewski left it to fate, and cut cards about it--the highest card winning. One need not be astonished at that, for he was very much at home with cards, since every busy man must have his recreation.

Indeed, Herr von Wroblewski not only recruited himself every evening with this amusement, but mornings and afternoons as well, when he could find a partner. He played everything, but as a liberal and an enemy of bureaucracy, chiefly the forbidden games of hazard. Away from home his luck often changed, but at his own table--he lived in the bel étage of Trachtenberg's house--he always won. This curious circumstance was frequently mentioned, and did not tend to increase the respect in which he was held. Perhaps here, too, the proverb, "If good luck in play, then bad luck in love," held good with Herr von Wroblewski, for, though he had been dangerous to many ladies of the town, he could lay claim to very little tenderness within his own four walls.

His wife, Lady Anna, a stout fair lady on the verge of forty, belonged to an old Polish family, was an ardent adherent of the Metternich régime, and leaned on the church and the army. It was rather difficult for her to decide whether she would rather be supported by the fat Dominican prior, Pater Hieronymus, or the supple Rittmeister, Herr von Bariassy.

Her girlish years had been passed in the house of her aunt, the wife of the highest official in Lemberg, and she had become so agreeable to the childless pair that her grateful uncle had given her a dowry and a husband, and was so good as to provide for her even after marriage. She seemed to have preserved pleasant reminiscences of him, which possibly accounted for the freak of nature which made her eldest daughter Wanda so singularly like her dear uncle.

This influential man sustained Herr Ludwig in his office, despite the incessant complaints raised against him; and so it got to be that the worthies of the town considered themselves justified in being neither stricter nor severer than the government.

The receptions at the magistrate's house were the most brilliant in the neighborhood, no one absenting himself voluntarily. Judith used to taunt her brother with this when he expressed his contempt for the man, and even Trachtenberg would say: "You are young, and think to better the world. But when you are older you will find there is but one way of doing it, which is to better yourself. It is impossible for me to do more in our times and circumstances. Certainly, Wroblewski is a corruptible judge, a card-sharper, and a scoundrel. But would he change if I ceased to hold intercourse with him? I have never used my influence with him for evil; and when he has proposed I should be his agent in a disreputable affair, I have always declined. He brings me custom, and therefore he lives in this house rent-free. He decides in my favor when I am obliged to sue, and for that receives twenty per cent. If I declined to give that, he would recommend other manufacturers, and I should lose my eighty per cent."

"Very good! But Judith?" said Raphael. "Does your business require she should go to their receptions every Tuesday?"

"Why should I not allow her this pleasure?" was the reply. "The host is contemptible, the wife not blameless, but the guests are different. The daughters of the physician and the chemist come regularly--carefully trained daughters of good parents. They run no danger; why should your sister?"

"They not, but Judith!" How often had Raphael had these words on his tongue and withheld them! What ground could he give for his fears? He had no facts to offer, only observations which his father would have condemned as the result of prejudice.

A year passed by with these unpleasant episodes. Raphael was to visit a university, and the father decided upon Heidelberg. Bergheimer was to accompany him and remain for some months.

Trachtenberg also gave the old master another commission. He was to look out for a suitable husband for Judith. For, as she had developed into a greater beauty than the tenderest of fathers could have expected, and as he was not unmindful of his wealth, he thought no one too good for her. So, too, since he had learned to appreciate the Jews of West Germany during his journeyings there, an educated, cultivated bridegroom from that quarter was the height of his ambition.

Judith surmised nothing, partly, perhaps, because she was so filled with sorrow over the departure of her dearly loved brother. True, she was doubly eager just then in her intercourse with Christians, declining no invitation to dance or picnic; but she would have relinquished a whole year of this pleasure if Raphael had, by a single word, given her a chance to confess her penitence and love. Yet it was impossible to make this avowal without some encouragement, especially as Raphael became more and more gloomy and inaccessible, really because he was burdened with the same misery.

The day before his departure finally arrived--a sunny September day--and early that morning Judith made up her mind to pocket her pride and have the longed-for interview. A chance prevented it.

This day, ill-omened for the house of Trachtenberg, was a festival day for the other inhabitants of the town. The new lord of the manor, Count Agenor Baranowski, was to take possession of his estates. Much depended on winning his good-will, as, owing to his immense property, he was the most influential man in the province. Therefore they had decorated the houses, improved the roads, and even swept the streets.

The Jews had been most zealous in all this, and had used quantities of garlands and much colored paper, not because they were particularly in favor with him, but because he had the reputation of hating the Jews.

Raphael used his severest satire in criticising this "slavish humility," but his father differed from him. His house was the most handsomely decorated of any, and from the gables there actually flew the light-blue and silver colors of the Baranowski. But he did not interfere with Raphael, who wished to go for a walk till the comedy should have been played out; though he himself went to the triumphal arch, which had been erected near his house, so that he might welcome the count as deputy for the Jews, while Judith went to the first étage.

The magistrate's apartment did not make a very good impression by daylight. The threadbare velvet of the furniture, with dust in every nook and cranny, and the curious medley of grand and shabby furniture were very apparent. It was quite in harmony for Lady Anna, her full form squeezed into a red silk dress, and her head surmounted by a pyramid of artificial flowers, to be bustling about with a duster in her hand, giving orders to her servants and receiving her guests at the same time.

For Herr von Wroblewski had made the count's acquaintance in Lemberg, and had taken care to have the honor of receiving him in his house the very first evening. Many guests had been invited from the neighborhood, and part of them had arrived in the morning. The gentlemen were at the triumphal arch, while the ladies were to view the procession from the windows.

The handsome hostess was fuming inwardly, still she had a friendly word for all, even for Judith.

"Why, child, how pretty you have made yourself today!" she exclaimed; and in truth the girl, in a dress of blue print, looked charming. The curls, clustering around her delicate forehead, shone like spun gold, and her neck was circled by a white silk ribbon with long ends.

"And you are wearing the count's colors," she continued, playfully shaking her finger. "How clever you are!"

"A mere coincidence," stammered Judith, blushing painfully; and she spoke the truth.

Lady Anna laughed. "You need not fib about it. I only wish I had been clever enough to think of it for Wanda. It is a pity you are not coming this evening; but, as it is, there are over a hundred invited, and I shiver when I think of the supper. At any rate, I have kept a good place for you at the window," and she led her to the most distant corner, where she had stowed away some poor relations, who had to consider the invitation as an undeserved honor, and so could not grumble at the company of the Jewess.

The spectators in the street below were squeezed in between the guards of honor, composed of peasants of the vicinity, and made futile attempts to reach the triumphal arch, where the worthies of the town had taken their position--on the right the magistrate, the prior, the burgomaster, and some others; on the left Nathaniel, the rabbi, and some Jews who carried the Thora rolls under a red baldachino. Judith could not see much of it, and Lady Anna's nieces used their elbows; but, fortunately, they did not wait long.

The salvos of artillery boomed, the monastery bells began to peal, and then the committee of peasants, chosen to escort their master, appeared, followed by his carriage, from which he alighted quickly.

The burgomaster (he was the apothecary of the town) began his address. He was a small, thin man, with a shrivelled-up face, who, when silent, made one think of a sick chicken; but he had a lion's voice in his throat, and was celebrated as the Demosthenes of the countryside. He did not discredit his reputation on this occasion, as he plunged with enthusiasm into the depths of the Middle Ages, raising the query as to whether the family of the Baranowskis was more ancient than that of the Jagellon, and thus embracing a comprehensive glance over Polish history.

Count Agenor, a young, well-built man, with a sad, handsome face, which was very pale by contrast with his jet-black beard, listened attentively at first, and then began to look about him. His eyes swept the windows of the Trachtenberg house, and Judith colored violently, for she saw distinctly how his face kindled as they rested on her window. Was this for her?

Her neighbors remarked it, too, and one hissed to the other, "The colors have had effect!" She heard it distinctly, and was about to withdraw, but the apothecary just at that moment ended his speech; the crowd shouted "Huzza!" The count said a few words of thanks, and was about to enter his carriage again, when Nathaniel stepped forward.

She saw how the young nobleman turned impatiently away and looked up at her window, and again she blushed painfully.

Her father said but a few words; the count thanked him by an inclination of his head, and, preceded by his escort, he drove on. As he passed the window, he looked up and saluted, placing his hand on his jewelled konfederatka.

"It is evident he has no liking for us," Trachtenberg remarked at dinner, a few hours later; but when Raphael made another cutting observation, he said, good-humoredly, "Do you think he would like us better if, contrary to usage and good-breeding, we had taken no part in his welcome?"

Raphael made no reply, but sat looking moodier than ever, until, dinner ended, he quitted the room, going, as he said, to pack his trunks. Judith then plucked up courage and offered her assistance, somewhat flippantly, indeed, making a jest of his awkwardness.

She adopted this manner to keep up her courage and to prepare an opening for escape in case of a snub; but Raphael heard only the mockery, and answered, bitterly, that he would be able to do without help, and left the room angrily. Still she kept to her good resolutions, and was glad when another opportunity was thrown in her way.

Late that afternoon, shortly after Von Wroblewski had returned from the reception at the Baranowski castle, Wanda came running down-stairs to beg Judith, in her mother's name, to go up that evening, as several young ladies had declined just at the last moment. This had frequently occurred, and, owing to their intimacy, Judith had taken it in good part. But on this occasion she declined, since it was Raphael's last evening at home. Wanda, however, would not allow this. "You must come! Bring Raphael with you."

He had not gone on their stairs for more than a year, and that Lady Anna should invite "that gloomy follower of the Talmud" to her most brilliant party was surprising. It shot through her brain--"She is inviting him because she knows he will not go." So she answered she would accept the invitation with pleasure if she could induce Raphael to do so too.

When Wanda grew excited, protesting she scarcely dared go up-stairs with such a reply, as "mamma and papa laid such stress on her coming; papa in particular," Judith was surprised, but answered all the more obstinately, until, after repeated entreaties from Wanda, she at last went to her brother.

Her heart throbbed as she opened the door. He sat at his empty work-table, his head resting on his hand, gazing at the candles.

With difficulty she made her request.

"In what good taste!" he sneered. "Of course, I will not go, but I will not prevent your going. It would be a sacrifice to you, and no pleasure to me."

His tone roused her spirit of defiance. "If it is a matter of such indifference to you, I have nothing more to say."

"But I have," he thundered, seizing her arm. "It is the last time, and therefore I will speak more plainly than I have as yet. You are no longer a child, Judith, and can you not see the rôle you play among those people? You are a Jewess, and they think no more of you than I do of our house-dog. Were you as beautiful as the Shunamite, as wise as the Queen of Sheba, and as good as an angel of the Lord, still you are a Jewess, and consequently not a being like themselves. Do you not feel that? My God, girl, are you insensible to this shame?"

"You are talking wildly," she said, contemptuously. "You are blinded by hurt pride. Of course, if one brings the air of the Ghetto into a drawing-room, one ought not to complain," and she attempted to free her arm.

But he held her. "Go on!" he said. "Say what you like, my tender sister, but then listen to me. Do you understand why they invite you? Just inquire of my father's ledger."

"The old story," she exclaimed, and tore her arm away.

"Well, then," he cried, in great excitement, "listen to something else, which I have kept from you. You are not a child, but a full-grown, beautiful girl, Judith--beautiful and a Jewess. Have you really never noticed that these young cavaliers treat you differently from the Christian ladies, that they allow themselves more liberties?"

She stood motionless, breathing hard. "You lie!" she ejaculated.

"I would to God I did!" he answered, clasping his hands in despair. "Then I could travel to-morrow with an easier conscience. Be warned, my sister! That gentleman up-stairs does not only invite you because he owes father his rent, but also because the young gentlemen whose money he wins like to have fun with the beautiful Jewess. Guard your soul, my sister; guard your honor; you will not have been the first that--"

She had listened to him as if paralyzed with indignation. Now she stepped up to him, her face so pale and distorted that he shrank back involuntarily.

She wished to speak, but her voice failed her. "May God forgive you!" she at last ejaculated, hoarsely, and staggeringly left the room.

Hurrying to her own room, she bolted the door and lay down upon the bed. There she stayed in the darkness for at least two hours, fighting with her emotions. Anger at her insulted pride and the unjust accusations raged through her pulses; her fingers twisted together as if she were throttling her insulter.

But it was Raphael, and that it was he, her most beloved creature on earth, who had so stained her innocent pleasures and herself, caused the tears to well to her eyes.

But were these tears as innocent as they seemed? Up to that hour Judith had been one of the purest of Nature's children; her blood suggested no evil desire, nor did her fancy paint alluring pictures. Her innocence had draped her eyes like a veil. But now the veil, indeed, was not rent, but it grew more and more transparent the more she pondered on these things. Her cheeks burned more from shame than from tears, and she was forced to surrender herself helplessly to these ugly thoughts.

But this accusation, painful as it was, roused her. Her anger reasserted itself--her anger and defiance--and pushed everything else into the background. She would think no more about it; she did not wish to know if he were right; he was not right, of that she was sure. He was blinded by his antipathy to Christians. She was blameless, and was she to be buried alive to gratify him?

Just then she heard Wanda knocking at her door and begging her to hasten. Answering "I will be there directly," she washed the tears from her cheeks, called her maid, and dressed.

When she entered the drawing-room, a half-hour later, Lady Anna came to meet her, supported by the church. "At last!" she exclaimed, delightedly. "And this must be your lucky day. I have rarely seen you look so pretty." In fact, her excitement had imparted an additional charm to her lovely face.

The stout cleric grinned like a faun, and stroked chin. "Ha, ha! how her cheeks glow! Does her little heart beat so wildly?" He seemed inclined to prove the truth of his assertion.

Judith turned deathly pale, and stepped back.

"What do you mean?" Lady Anna whispered to her worthy admirer, who had evidently just come from the buffet. She glanced around, and saw they were forming a quadrille. Count Baranowski was fulfilling the disagreeable duty of dancing with the voluminous wife of the thin burgomaster.

"Who knows," said Lady Anna, smiling, "what honor would have been yours if you had come earlier; now you must content yourself with young Wolczinski. Wladko!"

The tall, clumsy fellow stumbled up hastily. "You will dance this quadrille with Judith."

He hesitated. "I am--I have--" he stammered.

"What? already engaged?"

"No, but--"

"What then? too tired?" Lady Anna's eyes had not the pleasantest expression in the world just then. "Well, will you? Allons!"

He shrugged his shoulders, and offered his arm to the girl. Judith followed him with bowed head, as if crushed by the humiliation. "Have I experienced these things before, and now for the first time notice them?"

Wladko had, indeed, been rude to her often; both he and his sisters had cut her dead. But she had not taken it to heart, for she knew the reason. The head of the family, Herr Severin von Wolczinski, who had gotten rid of all his property with the exception of one small estate in close proximity to the town, had begged in vain for a loan from Nathaniel. The manufacturer's answer had always been the same. He would throw the account for goods received into the fire, but, on principle, he refused to lend money.

The young gentleman did not speak; he even avoided looking at his partner. At last he conceived a bright idea. "'Pon my honor," he exclaimed, "now I recognize you. The candles burn badly. They are miserable stuff. Supplied, no doubt, by some cheating Jew for more than they are worth."

Judith drew a long breath. "My father supplied them. They are both good and cheap, although he is often swindled of hard-earned money by some knavish nobleman."

The bystanders became attentive, which annoyed "Wladko still more.

"A nobleman never swindles," he asserted.

"Oh, yes, at times they do. Ordering goods which one can never pay for is swindling."

Some laughed. The prior, too, came staggering up, for he had just been visiting the buffet again, and could scarcely stand. "Wladko," he hiccoughed, "what are you quarrelling with the pretty Jewess about? You should kiss and make up."

"Do you really think so?" The young fellow laughed nervously. The next moment he had thrown his arms around her form and had kissed her on the neck. The brave deed was rewarded by loud laughter and clapping of hands.

Pale as death, and trembling from head to foot, Judith tore herself free. "What a cowardly, knavish, trick!" she exclaimed, indignantly.

"You are right!" said a deep, sonorous voice, so loudly that it was distinctly heard above the noise. "It was a mean, cowardly trick!"

The speaker was Agenor Baranowski.

"Monsieur le Comte!" exclaimed Wladko.

"I am at your service whenever you like. Will you do me the honor of taking my arm, mademoiselle?"

He led her through the guests, who silently made way for them.

"Where may I conduct you?" he inquired. "Is your mother here?"

"I have no mother. But I live in the house."

"I know you are the daughter of Herr Trachtenberg, who welcomed me so pleasantly to-day. Well, then, shall I take you to your housekeeper?"

"No, only as far as the stairs, please," for she felt her strength failing her.

He accompanied her to the stairs, and took leave of her with a profound bow.

"But, Judith!" called Lady Anna, rushing out of the room.

The girl did not hear her, and the count had returned to the salon.

CHAPTER II.

The next day people were talking everywhere of the kiss and its consequences. In the drawing-room of the magistrate, in the café of Aaron Siebenschläfer, where the Christian dignitaries assembled, and in the court of the synagogue, where the public opinion of the Ghetto originated.

"That is the result," complained the Jews, "of allowing a Jewish child to frequent Christian balls. Why need she have been so irritable when the young gentleman made a joke about her father? But the innocent must expiate the sins committed by the guilty. Wladko and the count will have a duel, and if one is killed, or (may God forbid!) both of them, on whom will this blood rest? On us all; for a Jewish child was the cause!"

"The impudent thing!" said the Christians. "She certainly is beautiful, and her beauty has bewitched the count. That is his only excuse. What had he to do with it? He ought to have kissed her, too. But, in the first place, she ought not to have been invited."

Lady Anna had her excuse ready, and, when this was said to her, made answer: "She was invited at his express request. The little coquette attracted his attention at his entrée, and he immediately asked my husband her name, saying, when they parted, 'I shall be pleased to meet all those pretty ladies again to-night.' Tell me what else I could do? Now I suppose the little upstart is proud of what she has done."

There she made a mistake. The poor little beauty felt as if she could never show her face again to the world. Sorrow gnawed her heart, and tears poured over her pale cheeks. She had only left her own room once, early in the dawn, when the carriage drove up which was to carry her brother away.

Then she fell on his neck, and covered his face, clothes, and hand with her tears and kisses, until he, too, wept with her. "Pardon me!" she stammered again and again. "You meant it for the best; you are always right; you were right last night, and I will remember it my life long."

He had no knowledge of the painful scene of the preceding evening, nor had his father, who stood gazing affectionately on them. So they started on their journey with a light heart. Nathaniel was to accompany his son the first day, and would not be home until the next evening.

Till then Judith kept in her room; even Lady Anna knocked in vain. She had come to have a sensible talk with the girl before Nathaniel's return. The old Jew was clever, but one could not tell how he would take the affair; and this was of great importance, as Herr von Wroblewski was thinking of applying for a considerable loan.

She went away uneasily after hearing no sound behind the door, but she lost little in not having had a conversation. For, had Judith's own father told her she had been wrong in repaying insult with insult, she would not have believed him. She was convinced she had done what was right, and was also convinced she had hitherto been tolerated only by the people in whose society she had found such pleasure and delight.

How humiliating the recollection of their friendliness, even more so than the remembrance of the insult! For while she thirsted passionately for revenge, it angered her to think of one even of that set with gratitude and respect. She recalled his glance in the morning; her face had led him on, or perhaps he wished to earn her regard. But again came the thought of his noble interposition in her behalf, of the deep respect he showed when leading her from the room, and his face rose before her--the pale, noble, commanding face with the sad eyes.

"No," she sobbed, "he is no better than the others." Yet this decision brought no consolation to the poor heart but fresh grief.

Another child of man was weeping inconsolably over the same event, but he was not beautiful as was the golden-haired Jewess. It was Herr Wladko von Wolczinski. And with him sobbed his father, mother, and four sisters, so that the whole house re-echoed with their lamentations.

His cousin Jan was the only one who remained unmoved. "Howl away," he growled. "If you did not wish to fight a duel, you should not have allowed us to persuade you into sending a challenge. It's only twenty-five paces, and only once firing. Baby, do be a man! Shoot him down! You can hit a deer at twenty-five paces."

"Jan," cried Wladko, "how can you be so heartless? Has a deer a pistol in its hand, aimed at me? It's a horrible thought!" Then, as the ladies kept up their quintet of sobs, old Herr Wolczinski determined to see if anything could be done to avert the calamity, and went to the magistrate.

"I have no desire to reproach you," he began, gloomily and energetically, "but it is your duty to prevent bloodshed. Count Agenor is the last of his line; he ought not fall by the hand of a Wolczinski. Let him only write a brief apology, which we can insert in the Lemberg Gazette, and the duel will be stopped."

Herr von Wroblewski had hard work to restrain his merriment, and indeed he did not entirely succeed.

"I scarcely think that possible," he replied. "Count Agenor was a Uhlan officer before he succeeded to his estates, and left the service in high repute."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the baron, affecting astonishment. "I did not know it. In that case we would only be giving him a choice between moral and physical death, which would be hard. Then we will only require a written apology, which we shall not publish."

Herr von Wroblewski cleared his throat. "Well, then, we shall give no one occasion to say we are revengeful. An oral apology will suffice. We will invite a few gentlemen. Count Agenor can come to us, and--" The baron came to a stop. Herr von Wroblewski cleared his throat louder than ever.

"Or--h'm--! We won't invite any one--or we could meet here! You, Wladko, the count, and myself, quite informally. He could just mutter something, as, 'I did not intend to give offence, etc.' They would shake hands, and--"

Herr von Wroblewski was seized with a severe fit of coughing.

"D---- it all!" swore the old gentleman, wiping the perspiration from his face. "We cannot make it easier. We couldn't go to him, so that he could say the few words. Or--h'm!--do you think we could?"

"It would be very unusual," said the magistrate again, sober as the grave.

"Unusual! That does not matter! Mon Dieu! Everything must be done for the first time. My dear friend, I beg of you, I implore you to--"

"I will do my best," promised Wroblewski, and he kept his word. He went to the count the very next day, and laughingly laid the proposition before him. Agenor laughed aloud.

"It is impossible. I am an officer. No matter what I said to the boy, it would be regarded as an apology."

"But you don't thirst for his blood. Just consider--a young fellow excited by champagne, and she a Jewess!"

"He met her as your guest."

"Yes, certainly! I do not intend to excuse Wladko. But be honest, my dear count. Would you have said anything if she had been ugly?"

"Yes," said Agenor, seriously. "I do not love the Jews, as you know; quite the contrary; and not because of my experience with them as a young officer. But I find it quite natural that all creatures on earth should protect themselves with their own weapons. Theirs are trickery and money. I have frequently asked myself whose fault it is that they use such weapons. They are often men with splendid abilities, and in many ways more moral than we. I acknowledge it is very largely our own fault. We are antagonistic; we knock them down; they bite us in the heels. So, without pondering over whose fault it is, I place myself in the ranks of those to whom I belong, by blood and position."

"But, my dear count!" interrupted the official. "As if it required any words! Do you fancy I like the Jews?"

"Your position is not mine," responded Agenor, curtly. "As judge, you cannot be a party man; but I, as a private individual, may, and, as the head of an old family, must be one. For in the contest my class is being ruined. It cuts me to the heart to know this, for I think much of this class, its necessities and its obligations. We aristocrats--I mean we true, pure-blooded, wealthy old families--are the only firm pillars of the state, as, indeed, we Polish aristocrats are the only hope of our nation. There is no other besides us--the middle class scarcely exists, and the peasantry are against us. Look over the country; one man after another, one family after another, falls and sinks into oblivion--through foolishness, idleness, and bad management, I allow. But could we incur debts so readily if there were no Jews in the country? Who is the inheritor? The Jew! Who has possession of the estates of the Wolczinskis, which a hundred years ago were enormous? Armenians, who hold them for the Jews, since they are prohibited from owning real estate themselves."

"Very true," responded Wroblewski. "And for this very reason you should not shoot the last of the Wolczinskis!"

"I do not propose to," said the count, with a smile; "although it might prove the best thing for him, and others like him. For what will become of them? Only a few can straighten out their affairs by marriage with the bourgeoisie, and this is a misfortune--a humiliation. We have not yet gone as far as they have in the Western provinces, where Count Wagenspergh recently married an Eskeles. Is that to happen with us? The first rule in this contest should be, no social intercourse with Jews--no pulling-down of barriers."

"Is that a reproach?" inquired the magistrate, in a hurt tone. "You yourself wished it;" and he told how he had interpreted the count's words.

"Well, yes, you understood me so," said the count, in confusion. "True, you told me the girl often came to your house. But it was foolish of me, and my folly has been severely avenged. Do you think it pleasant for me to fight a duel on account of a Jewess? But it is always the way. We turn from the beaten path for one step, and it proves to be a mile in the end. It was the first time I had met a Jewess in society; but being there, she was to be considered a lady like the rest. When the insult was offered, she was in my vicinity, and, therefore, under my protection; and such would have been the case, no matter how plain she might have been. However, this supposition does not count, as Judith is beautiful--very beautiful, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"Yes." The count looked down sadly, even gloomily. "My dear Wroblewski, if I were not aware that you knew me to be the reverse of a saint, I would be ashamed, of the confession, that since my first sight of that face I--but words cannot express it. In short, that it is a great pity that she is a Jewess, and a--"

"And?"

"And a virtuous girl." The count drew a long breath, and colored to the roots of his hair, while his fingers closed upon the ivory paper-knife with which he had been playing, with such a firm grip that it snapped in two.

The magistrate's eyes were wide open now; he winked slyly, and puckered his mouth as if to whistle. He then said softly: "One must be loyal. You have an old friend here on whom you can rely unconditionally--unconditionally, and in everything, my dear count."

The young aristocrat turned suddenly; his face was still red, and his lips trembled.

"What do you mean?" he inquired, brusquely. Wroblewski looked straight at him and smiled, but made no answer.

The count cast down his eyes. "We had better not say any more about it, at least not to-day. As regards your protégé, young Wolczinski, I cannot oblige him."

He arose, and the magistrate took up his hat. "Farewell, my dear friend," he said, offering his right hand.

But the count kept both hands in the pockets of his short riding-coat. "Adieu, Herr von Wroblewski!"

The magistrate smiled more deprecatingly than ever; but he stopped in the corridor, and soliloquized: "I did not think you were so young, my noble patron. But you shall pay dearly for that shake of the hand you gave me."

Proceeding to the Wolczinski house, his communication again started the fountains flowing. Only Herr Jan retained his composure. "Heaven will not allow two young noblemen to murder each other for the sake of a Jewess. Rest assured, God will work some miracle."

The pious confidence of the old man was not deceived. The miracle was wrought.

Nathaniel returned the same evening. He was much frightened when Judith went to meet him in great excitement. He listened to her confession, and walked up and down the room with long, nervous strides.

"Keep calm, my child," he said at last, stroking her ruffled hair tenderly. "It would have been more dignified, perhaps, to have passed over the first innuendo of the cad in silence. But it is past now, and pay no heed to the gossip; all will soon quiet down. I am only grieved for the result upon your own heart. How unhappy and how lonely you will be if you retain your present opinion of Christians! But you will not, for your present bad opinion is as erroneous as your former good opinion was. Now go away and lie down, my poor child, and sleep off your headache."

He himself kept awake a long time. "Poor child!" he mused. "Even your loveliness and brightness could not disarm hatred. How hard you will yet have to feel that hour! If you were a Pole, you would be the more sought after; and if both were killed, a hundred admirers would spring about you. But you are a daughter of that nation in which any whispered blemish on her reputation is fatal. Lost and damned, in her own country at least."

He did not paint it a whit too black, for he knew his own countrymen. It seemed strange enough to them that he should have allowed her to reach her twentieth year without marrying, and now how they would judge her! It became of vital importance for Bergheimer to secure a suitable parti for Judith from abroad, for at home she would have no chance. Even should he pile up mountains of gold, it would be impossible, duel or no duel. But in case it took place, the news would spread abroad, and the coming bridegroom would probably hear of it at the first Galician town in which he rested.

This supposition sank into the old man's soul with terrible force.

"Am I blameless?" he asked himself. "Have I given my child the education best conducive to her own good? Was I right in rejecting Raphael's warning?"

The following morning, instead of going to his comptoir, he went where he would meet his acquaintances--on the street, and to the Weinstube of Aaron Siebenschläfer. He turned the conversation in the direction of the proposed duel, treating it quite as a joke. Every one was surprised--the Christians wondering how they could have made so much of it, while the Jews shook their heads dubiously.

At noon Nathaniel paid a visit to his lodger. He curtly interrupted Wroblewski's flow of words. "I know you could not help it. But you must do me a favor now. The duel must not take place."

"How can I help it? Both the count and Wladko are foaming with rage."

Nathaniel was a polite man, but he could speak plainly on occasions. "You are mistaken," he said, quietly. "Wladko is dying of fear, and the count told you yesterday how painful to his feelings a duel would be on account of a Jewess. Your mistake arises from your desire to demand from me a large recompense for your services, and you wish to justify it by magnifying the difficulty of the negotiation. But that is not to be. You know I am willing you should earn money, but in this case I will not advance one penny. I will not have it said I preserved my daughter's good fame with money. If, however, you will do it for the sake of old friendship--"

Herr von Wroblewski made a gesture as if he had been the recipient of a token of Trachtenberg's deepest respect.

"There is no need of many words between us. Say on, my old friend."

"The difficulty is in the way alone. The count is unable to tender an apology. Wladko cannot withdraw without one. This can be circumvented in the following manner: Wladko can come with his father to-morrow morning about eleven o'clock, and beg my pardon. The count can hear of it and declare that, much as he disapproved of Wladko's conduct that evening, so now he approves of his chivalry in making a voluntary expiation."

"Splendid!" ejaculated the official. "But suppose Wladko--"

"Kef uses? He will be only too glad. At most, Jan will make it an occasion for renewing his request for a loan. But I trust you will make it clear to him."

"That this is not a time for a man of honor to ask for money? Certainly! Then to-morrow at eleven. The more formal the affair the better?"

"No. Only what is necessary."

"Shall I not invite the count, and his second, the Rittmeister? He can hear Wladko's explanation, say what he wishes, and all will be straight."

Nathaniel considered a moment, then nodded. "Yes, if the count will do me the honor."

"Then I may invite him in your name and Judith's?"

"Only in mine. Jewish girls do not send invitations to cavaliers."

"Of course," assented the magistrate. "You are always so full of tact. But she will be present, I suppose?"

"I hardly think so."

"But Nathaniel, that is absurd," said Wroblewski, energetically. "You demand satisfaction for your daughter, not because she is a Jewess, but because she is a lady of unsullied character. Accordingly, you must adapt yourself to the manner one would choose if she were a Christian."

Nathaniel paused. "Very well, I don't mind," he said, abruptly.

Herr von Wroblewski heaved a sigh of relief. "You shall now see that I am your friend. This evening you shall have news."

Two hours later he was able to announce the success of his mission. The report of the reconciliation spread through the town. Christians were annoyed, and Jews delighted; but both asked, "How much did it cost Nathaniel?"

When Judith entered the sitting-room the next morning shortly before eleven, she heard, in spite of the closed blinds, a muffled noise in the street. There stood the inquisitive crowd, shoulder to shoulder. Turning pale, she stepped back.

"Why are you astonished?" Nathaniel asked, smiling. "The sight to-day will be more wonderful than that of five days ago. It has many times happened that a new lord has entered the town, but never before that a Schlachzig has come to beg pardon of a Jewess. I would give a good deal if--"

He stopped, for when he saw her before him, so pale, serious, and melancholy, his heart seemed bursting with pity, and the gentle reproof died on his lips.

"My poor child!" he murmured.

Perhaps it was the black woollen dress, unrelieved, contrary to her usual custom, by flowers or ornaments of any kind, but she seemed quite a different creature. The gay, beautiful child had suddenly developed into a staid woman with sad, wise eyes. Her form seemed more slender, and her features sharper.

"Did you sleep last night?" he asked, stroking her pale cheek tenderly.

"Certainly," she replied, nervously. She glanced at the clock. It was still five minutes to eleven. "Wanda was here just now," she continued. "Wiliszenski will give a recitation of his poems up-stairs to-morrow, and she invited me to attend, but I declined."

"You were wrong. Prudence alone should have advised you to act differently. Not as one who has committed an unpardonable sin; you cannot become a nun all at once. To please--"

"Father," she said, beseechingly. "If you only knew--"

"I do know. But you will please accept, Judith."

She was silent; it was a command, against which there was no appeal. A carriage stopped, and some "hurrahs" were heard outside. Judith's cheeks flushed purple.

"It is the count," said Nathaniel. He hastened to meet the young man, and bowed his gray head as if welcoming a prince.

"May God bless your entrance!" he said, pathetically, yet cordially. "May he reward your generosity. I cannot express myself in words, but--"

"But, Herr Trachtenberg," Agenor said, remonstratingly. His glance rested on Judith, who stood near, pale and trembling.

"I hope you, are not ill?" he cried.

"No--"

"I was afraid--the result of that excitement."

She was embarrassed, and he felt awkward, very much because this pale girl was such a contrast to the vision which had been present to his imagination.

Her father took her hand.

"Are you not going to thank our most gracious count?" he asked. "Please excuse the child," he added--"the recollection of this most painful episode. She can generally find an answer."

"Herr von Wolczinski has learned that. But thanks are unnecessary in this case. Any one would have acted as I did. It is a duty I must have fulfilled towards any lady."

Judith's face brightened. "Any lady?" she repeated, hastily.

"Assuredly." Then he comprehended her meaning. "I knew you were--"

"A Jewess--yes!" she broke in. "But would you have done as much for any Jewess? I mean, if I had been old and ugly--"

"Judith!" exclaimed Nathaniel. "What are you saying?" He seemed beside himself. The count, too, was taken aback. "What coarse flirting!" he thought. But the painful quivering of her lips contradicted that.

Her father's ejaculation showed her how her question might be misinterpreted. She blushed painfully. "No, no!" she cried, her eyes filling with tears. "Mon Dieu! I only mean--"

She could not finish. Herr von Wroblewski and the Rittmeister entered, followed closely by Herr Severin, his son, and cousin Jan.

The comedy was enacted as prescribed in the programme. Wladko stammered the words written for him by Herr von Wroblewski. The count gave his explanation. Jan expressed the opinion that Wladko had no longer an occasion for hurt feelings, and the gentlemen shook hands. It lasted but three minutes.

Judith stood motionless. "No wonder," said Herr Severin, as he left the room with his following to the Rittmeister. "She is quite stupefied with the honor." She pulled herself together when the count made preparations to leave.

"Most gracious count," she began, with shaking voice, clasping her hands involuntarily. "Do not think, when I began before--no, you would be doing me injustice. But--I do not know if you understand me--but that you, the principal gentleman here, whose society every one regards as an honor, should--" Her voice was stifled in tears.

He felt as if dreaming--seeing the poor, beautiful girl trembling before him, with upraised hands, and the emotions wakened in his heart made him understand this tangled stammering.

"It would console you," he asked, "if I should answer your former question quite candidly? You would then see that this prejudice is not shared--" He was silent--"by us all," he was about to add; but, as an honest man, he could not say it, for he had that prejudice.

"Yes, yes," she cried.

"Well, then, I would have done the same for anybody of your creed, as Herr von Wroblewski can bear witness. He asked me the same question the day before yesterday, and received the same answer."

The magistrate had been listening breathlessly. "It is so, 'pon my honor."

"Thanks! thanks!" Judith murmured, and before the count could hinder she had seized his hand and kissed it.

As Agenor was about to enter his carriage the next minute, the magistrate said, "Will you do me a great favor, my dear count? Wiliszenski, the poet, whom perhaps you know by reputation, is to read us his latest verses quite en famille. As yet there are only five of us, for my wife always invites Judith, though the girl does not seem to care for the poet, preferring to spend the evening alone with the albums, in the next room. May we hope to see you?"

He looked inquiringly into the count's face. The contemptuous glance which he encountered did not disturb him. In fact, he smiled.

The count dropped his eyes. There he stood, his hand on the carriage door, a picture of indecision.

"I regret," he said, finally, "I am engaged for tomorrow evening."

"What a pity!" exclaimed Wroblewski.

The carriage rolled away; he watched it smilingly, and the same smile was on his lips when he went to his wife, and said, "Six guests to-morrow evening."

CHAPTER III.

Thaddeus von Wiliszenski was, with some exceptions, a Polish Walter von der Vogelweide. He, too, gained less by his learning than by his genius; he, too, wandered from castle to castle, exhorting the nobles to justice--rejoicing when he received a new coat or negotiated a loan, for I doubt if any one ever borrowed so much.

Like Walter, he was a political poet, though not a one-sided one, like the German singer. He read stirring war-songs against Austria to the nobles, and then, by order of the magistracy, composed odes for the emperor's birthday. For the burghers he wrote lampoons against the nobles; for the nobles, skits against the bourgeoisie.

He, too, belonged to the later nobility, for though a "von" was under his poems and a coat-of-arms on his writing-paper, it was difficult to trace his genealogy. Some, indeed, said he was the son of a shoemaker, and had failed in the gymnasium; others, that he had been a barber's apprentice.

It was equally difficult to ascertain his birthplace. Several provinces strove about declining the honor. He was in the habit of saying he was the son of that neighborhood in which he happened to be collecting subscriptions, just at the time, for his poems. If the book had ever appeared, a large edition would have been required, for one could scarcely count the numbers from whom he had collected its price of three gulden. But, like the Minnesänger, he contented himself with leaving it oral.

Uninvited, and suddenly as if dropped from the skies, he would appear at the farm-houses. Sometimes he was kicked out after three, sometimes after eight days' sojourn, for he never departed of his own volition. But as one cannot live by poetry alone, he also acted as mediator when bribery or some equally dirty business was on hand, which accounted for his friendship with Von Wroblewski.

It was, then, in honor of this son of the muse that Lady Anna had made this little party. There sat Wiliszenski, his long, tangled, sandy curls in greater confusion than usual, while he declaimed poems in honor of the great ones of the land. It had been long since he had reckoned a count among his hearers, and he concluded that Agenor having come, notwithstanding he had at first declined the invitation, it was because of his interest in the poet. How gratifying, then, the close attention which this wealthy man accorded him!

He was reading an historical ballad--"The Bloody Day;" the hero was a Poniatowski, but the poet read it Baranowski, since it scanned equally well. His breast was overflowing with a strong current of poetical inspiration. "May the devil fetch me, if that is not worth fifty gulden to me!"

When he had finished, all were silent. He was unable to see the faces of his auditors, for Lady Anna had so placed the lamp-shade that the light fell only on the manuscript. But deep silence was the highest of all praise.

"Wonderful!" ejaculated the lady of the house. The jingle of the verses had swept her ear without conveying a meaning. She had been watching the count as he sat there motionless and awkward as a boy. A sigh heaved her ample bosom. "What a magnificent fellow! And all this for that Jewish girl!"

"Yes, very good indeed," said the count, rousing himself from his brown study.

"Especially the descriptions of the landscape," remarked the magistrate.

"What landscape?" inquired Judith, in surprise. She alone had followed the poem, hoping thereby to regain her self-possession and quiet her wildly beating heart. She had come in obedience to her father's wishes when she heard the count had refused to come, but when he walked in so unexpectedly she felt as though she must fly--fly from herself.

Herr von Wroblewski pretended not to have heard the gentle interruption. "And these people!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "One can really see them! And the feeling!" he added, cautiously. "There must have been some such stupid rubbish," he thought. Then he gave his daughter a signal, and she slipped out of the room unperceived.

"Our Thaddeus is a master mind," he exclaimed. "Some of his ballads rival Mickowicz, parole d'honneur! And he is so versatile! After what he has just read, you would class him among sentimental poets. But now, Thaddeus, give us those songs--'Venus in her Night-gown!'"

It was a collection of very ambiguous poems, which, at the last recitation, had driven Judith into another room. She could not understand what had so amused the rest of the company, but her instinct had warned her that they were unfit for her ears.

"Perhaps later on," said the poet; "but now I should like to read the 'Ballad of King Casimir and the Beautiful Esther.'"

"What are you thinking of?" cried Wroblewski, anxiously, for he knew it was a ribald poem against the Jews.

"Let it be!" said Thaddeus. "You have not heard the new version." For, since several Jewish farmers in Eastern Galicia had proven their interest in Polish literature by showing him hospitality for a few days, he had transformed entirely the story of Casimir the Great and his Jewish mistress. "That will fit in splendidly to-day," he thought, "and I may perhaps receive one hundred gulden!" For he had heard of the scene in the ballroom, and the character of his host was a guarantee that Judith and the count had not been brought together on this occasion by accident.

He began to read; the first verses quieted the apprehensions of the head of the house. The former version had shown what a pestilence the Jewish element had been in Poland, but this showed how the chosen people of the Old Testament had found a sanctuary in the poet's native land; and how Casimir, for love of the beautiful Esther, had granted charters to the Jews, and finally made a queen of his beloved. The poem closed with an ardent appeal to charity and fraternity.

Again all was still. "Excellent!" murmured the host, glancing at the count. Entranced, he gazed at the excited face of the beautiful girl opposite him. Judith did not notice him. Breathing deeply, she sat with eyes half closed, buried in thought, carried away by the emotions aroused by the poem. She had never before heard of the beautiful Esther. It was a revelation that the boundaries which she had felt so bitterly the past few days had not been set by nature; that there had been a time when they had not existed; that there had been a queen of Poland who had been a Jewess, and that it had been neither forbidden by God nor hindered by man. And then again she experienced that not inscrutable emotion which had stirred within her since the event of the ballroom; though, to be sure, a count was not a king, but-- She aroused herself as if to shake off these thoughts, and met the fixed fiery gaze of the count. She started, and, blushing deeply, arose as if to take flight.

"Admirable!" Wroblewski repeated, with sincerity. "But now I must manage to arrange a private chat," he added to himself.

"Now, my dear poet, please let us have the Venus songs." He grinned like a faun. "They are splendid count, I assure you."

The poet put out his hand for the dilapidated manuscript, for these poems were the ones most in demand; but the count interfered. "I think," he said, decidedly, "we had better ask Herr von Wiliszenski for something else better fitted for the ears of ladies."

There was nothing more to be said; so a ghastly but insignificant ballad was read, after which supper was announced, which passed off very quietly. Judith and the count were silent, and the poet also; for, to his idea, conversation at such a supper was a sinful waste of time, and of opportunity which did not present itself every day. Wroblewski had therefore to carry on the entire conversation himself; for his wife was in a bad humor, as she did not approve of her husband's plans in the slightest, but quite the contrary.

As she looked at the dreamy young girl, an idea, and a good one, so it seemed, struck her. "Judith," she said, laughingly, "you are not eating! Has it touched you so deeply that Wiliszenski made the beautiful Esther a queen?"

The probe went deeper than she expected. The girl started, and changed color. "Did she not become one?" she asked, almost under her breath.

Lady Anna laughed aloud. "Did you really believe it?"

"Why not?" exclaimed her husband, with an angry glance. "I believe it. It was so, was it not, my dear Wiliszenski?"

The poet's mouth was so full just then that it was impossible to respond immediately. An equivocal answer seemed wisest. He swallowed hastily. "Some chroniclers say so."

"The most reliable," affirmed Wroblewski, energetically.

"Do come to my aid," said Lady Anna to the count. "I have always read that she was only the king's mistress."

The count hesitated, but only for a second. "So she was," he said. "Our poet knows the old chroniclers better than I do, no doubt; but his poem would scarcely hold its own against the facts brought to light in modern research. It has been proven that Casimir the Great opened his land to the Jews for precisely the same reason as he did to the Germans--that the middle class, which was lacking, might be created. It is certain that the beautiful Esther fascinated him for a longer period than did his other amies, but history has never allowed her much influence over his actions."

"With due respect to your information," said the magistrate, "I must say I have often read the contrary, 'pon my honor, very often! You will, at least, allow that Casimir loved the Jewess better than he did any Christian?"

"Certainly, they all assert that," Agenor answered.

They rose from the table and retired to the drawing-room. Wanda and Judith sat down to look at some albums. Lady Anna entangled the count in a conversation, while the poet took possession of the host. But the latter listened abstractedly, though Wiliszenski was unfolding a business scheme.

The magistrate had caused the arrest of a scoundrel of good family for cheating. Thaddeus portrayed eloquently the grief of his relatives, on account of his having disgraced the Franciscan monastery, where he had been serving his novitiate. They now proposed to send him to Russia, and wished to avoid public sentence of guilt; it would hurt them so keenly.

"All right," responded the magistrate. "I am not a monster; but we will talk of it after a while. Now go into the smoking-room."

The poet obeyed. Wanda vanished at her father's nod; and Lady Anna, who did not dare to cross his plans for a second time that day, also withdrew, though unwillingly.

"Now, my dear count," said the magistrate, with a glance at Judith, "I must beg you to excuse me, too."

"But, Herr von Wroblewski--" Agenor began.

"What is it you wish?"

"I must say I do not approve of the way in which--" He paused, although his host stood before him, with drooping eyes, like a penitent sinner.

"Don't scold me," Wroblewski said. "Do not spoil my pleasure in seeing you here, although so unexpectedly." He bowed, and left the room.

The count bit his lips, and looked hesitatingly, first after him and then at Judith. She stared at the book which lay before her. The lamp-light shone on her auburn hair and delicate rosy face. He drew a deep breath, and stepped up to her.

She glanced up at his approach, and when she saw they were alone she seemed ready to run.

"What is interesting you so?" he asked, as unconcernedly as he could, looking at the engraving open before her. "Heidelberg? A splendid town! My regiment was in Mayence for some time, and I often ran over to Heidelberg."

"My brother is going there to stay," said Judith.

The count inquired why Raphael had not attended an Austrian high-school, to which she replied that it was Bergheimer's advice, who had so strongly recommended the law schools of Heidelberg; that her father had the greatest confidence in Bergheimer, and had intrusted to him the education of both her brother and herself. The count then asked in what subjects she had been taught, and the methods of instruction, so that, if the magistrate had been eavesdropping, the conversation would not have interested him much.

But after a time it took a more important turn. She told him Bergheimer was a zealous botanist, and had made a good herbarium of plants, special to Eastern Galicia.

"Then I suppose the gardens of the castle interested him?" said Agenor.

"Certainly. Though he was never there."

"Why not?"

"He was not allowed. Admission is forbidden to Jews, as you will see on the board at the entrance. But do not think this embittered him. He always said: 'It is not the fault of the count; such a board stands on the park-gates of every castle in Podolia. If they should be removed, it would create great gossip.' Bergheimer is such a noble, gentle creature. He never dreamed of an exception being made in his favor, although he is so fond of flowers. 'Perhaps the gardener would allow it,' he used to say, 'but I do not wish for any advantages above my brethren.' And he was right."

"Then you, too, have never been in the garden?"

"Yes," she answered, blushing deeply. "I have often been there with Wanda and the burgomaster's daughters, and occasionally alone. The custodians know me, but they said nothing, and I was weak enough to be glad of it. I fancied I was superior to the others. But I have atoned! How I felt when I recognized--"

"By that scene in this house," he said, interrupting her. "I have only known since yesterday what an impression it must have made upon you, and a wrong one. Fräulein Judith! Believe me, this gulf--"

She listened intently, but he came to a stand. No, he could not, he ought not, lie.

"Well, the gulf?"

"Is not so deep, after all. But why talk about it? Your brother, then, is in Heidelberg!"