After his absence of several years, Jacob was surprised at the aspect which Poland presented. An extravagant and foolish hope and excitement prevailed everywhere. The most improbable rumours were accepted without question. All hearts rejoiced, and for the second time all hands were outstretched toward that France, which was, however, transformed into a sort of machine, obeying the capricious will of one man. Wonders were announced from Russia. The Muscovites were preparing an outbreak, and from this terrible uprising would come a reconciliation with Poland.

The tolerance of the government, a feigned and calculated tolerance, passed for weakness and impotence. Russia, it was said, had changed; she had weakened, and was no longer capable of repressing a patriotic rebellion. She was afraid, and the fear was believed on account of easy concessions, which were really made in order to precipitate the revolutionary movement. All this was to the secret satisfaction of the Czar and his ministers, who directed a course of action full of ambuscades and of deceit.

The propaganda of Hertzen, Bakounine, Ogaref, Golovine, Dolgorouky,--legatees of the ideas of the Decabristes,--had not been entirely unsuccessful in the cause of true Russia, the ancient Moscovie. They had worked on the youth of the universities, they had penetrated the army and the navy, they had sprung up even in the garrets and in the country. The government had been obliged to capitulate before them. They were so strong at present, that it was hoped by the precipitation of the Polish insurrection to divert the public attention from the greater danger which threatened St. Petersburg and Moscow. Thus the poor Poles were unconsciously led on to their own destruction. It was permitted to the Katkof and to the Aksakof to turn insidiously the aspirations for liberty into a current of national hatred.

In the last repression of Poland, the Russia of Alexander II. was more barbarous, more pitiless, than the Russia of Catharine and of Nicholas. As for Europe, which was formerly agitated at the sight of these crushed people, she regarded with cold indifference the hanging of Mouravief, and the wholesale exile of the people who strewed the route from the Vistula to the Lena with corpses. Such is the sympathy of Europe in this mercenary age, when self-interest is too highly esteemed to be endangered by taking the side of the oppressed.

At times Jacob refused to believe his eyes and ears, men seemed so different from what he had imagined them. Their language and their deportment were no longer the same. His first visit in Warsaw was paid to his former guardian. He found him absent, and it was rumoured, engaged in important enterprises. On returning from his house he met Henri Segel, for whom his aversion had augmented since, on the route from Genoa to Spezzia, he had encountered him in company with the danseuse Gigante. He recoiled and blushed on hearing the joyous voice of Mathilde's husband.

"Really, this is a surprise," said Henri. "You are more astonished to see me here than in Italy? Well, we live in changeable times. Mathilde did not like Italy, and was determined to return to la cara patria. I consented to come, for urgent business made it necessary for me to do so. How delighted I am to see you again, Monsieur Jacob! I am on my way home, and willingly or by force you must come with me. I am anxious to show you my new residence. It is a lovely house; a jewel, comfortable, elegant, and in good taste. Come and help me amuse Mathilde. Always sad and weary, she communicates to me her sadness. She is an incomprehensible woman; in fact, all women are incomprehensible. My wife wants for nothing. She has only to ask in order to obtain silks, jewels,--everything that would make most women happy. But she is always discontented; an unhappy disposition! Come, let us go!"

"Truly I have not much time. I have only just arrived, and I have business to attend to."

"Your business will keep. Mathilde will be delighted to see you. You will be doing her a special favour. Come, then, I pray you!"

Jacob felt that he ought to refuse, but the temptation was too great. To see her again! Duty forbade it, his heart demanded it, and his heart led him.

Henri took his arm as if to prevent his escape, and conducted him to his home.

"Look well at Warsaw," said he gayly. "What changes everywhere!"

"It is true," said Jacob. "These transformations I feel, but I cannot explain them."

"Enormous changes! The general exaltation is complete! The hand is on the trigger. A revolution is imminent."

"May God preserve us from it!" said Jacob.

"It is inevitable, or else I am a fool. I can smell powder; but, in any case, it cannot hurt us. Naturally, there will be many victims, and it behooves us to manoeuvre not to be caught in the wheels of this machine, which rolls and crushes. We have everything to gain, whatever be the result, whichever be the conqueror."

"I avow that I do not comprehend you."

"From either side we shall obtain civil equality. That is certain. Afterward we shall not be ruined, even if we throw millions into the abyss. Our capital is not seizable like that of the landed nobles, whose estates can be so easily confiscated, but our wealth is portable; gold and jewels chiefly comprise it. We shall save our fortunes, and there lies our strength. The Muscovites will prevail in the end; the odious class of proud Polish nobles will disappear, and we shall be the aristocrats to whom the country will belong."

"The truth of your calculation may be proved, perhaps; its cruelty is unsurpassed. With what indifference you discount the misfortunes of those who form the basis of your argument!" said Jacob.

"What else can I do? Can I prevent this uprising? Ought we not to profit by circumstances? Believe me, the Jews hold to-day in their hand the future of Poland. Yesterday despised, soon we shall be the masters! Look at the nobility! What is it? A band without strength, who guard their pride of birth, their arrogance, their corruptions, their eccentricities, and foolish indifference; they have all the faults of their ancestors, and none of their virtues. It is a caste surely fated to die. Such a caste cannot exist now-a-days. And if society still demands a sort of modified aristocracy, who will replace the nobles? Who but we?"

"You know that I am a Jew, heart and soul," said Jacob; "but I pity Poland if your prophecy is accomplished."

"And why?"

"Because we are not ready for the rÔle you lay out for us. We have not deserved, by our conduct, to be the arbiters of this country. And to tell the whole truth, our community is more corrupt than the nobles; it is already worm-eaten."

"Not so bad as they, though."

"Our malady is different from theirs, but it is as dangerous."

"Oh, no! Because we know how to acquire and preserve this wealth, while the nobles do not know anything of business, nor how to manage their vast estates economically. The strength of money, the strength of capital, is the only real power in this century."

"An opportunity, as you have remarked," said Jacob, "is presented to the Jews of Poland to play an important rÔle; as important as the one they already hold in Germany. Will they understand their advantageous position? Will they be worthy of it? Two questions to which God alone can reply."

Segel burst out laughing.

"You are a pious Jew," cried he. "In everything you mix the idea of God. These old superstitions are completely worn out."

"And that is precisely what afflicts me. We have torn our belief to tatters, but under them is gold."

"What use of speaking of the dÉbris of a past which will never return? There is my house; it cost more than a half million. I will do the honours, and we will go afterward to find Mathilde."

He looked at his watch.

"Saperlotte! I am expected at the Bourse in half an hour; but I have still time to stay a few moments with you; then you can await me with Mathilde. I will despatch my business at a gallop."

The mansion was spacious and elegant, but with a vulgar display of wealth. No taste, refinement, or sentiment for art. It was built on one of those plans which serve at the same time for private houses or hotels. Superb mirrors with gilded frames, furniture covered with velvet hangings of great price, wonderful inlaid floors, rare bronzes, crystal chandeliers, porcelain from China and Japan, costly bric-À-brac, and a general tone of vulgar display; such was the dwelling, where, in the least details, one could see that the proprietor had everywhere sought to dazzle his guests, and confound taste with costliness.

During the inspection he several times spoke thus:--

"This bibelot cost me a hundred ducats; this vase is worth a thousand roubles."

The ostentatious mansion was worthy of a dethroned king or of a prince in partibus. The general air of the house, nevertheless, was that of solitude and ennui. The rooms seemed uninhabited. In spite of their proportions, there was something wanting. Nothing seemed homelike or cheerful.

Segel even conducted Jacob to the pretentious kitchen, provided with a constant flow of running water. There was a tank filled with fish, and many other inventions more or less ingenious.

As soon as his host had left him to go and inform his wife, Jacob threw himself on a couch; he was overpowered with fatigue and disgusted with all this show, and pitied Mathilde more than ever.

Madame Segel soon entered slowly; she was very pale, and was almost unable to walk alone. She saluted her friend with a sweet smile tinged with melancholy. In her sunken eyes burned a strange fire.

"Welcome home from Italy, monsieur," said she, holding out her hand. "I longed to return home; but what matters it, here or there, it is all the same."

"No doubt life, regarded in all its gravity, is full of sadness everywhere," said Jacob.

"Why the devil do you regard it thus?" cried Henri, offering Jacob a little glass of brandy. "I almost forgot the Bourse. I have hardly time to swallow anything. Dear Mathilde, be good enough to keep our guest until my return. I confide him to you; do not let him escape. I will be absent only a quarter of an hour."

He rang.

"Are the horses ready?" asked he of the servant.

"Yes, monsieur."

"That is good. Au revoir. Without further excuse I leave you with my wife," said he, kissing his wife's hand. "If you are at loss for conversation, she can play the piano or sing something. You will find the daily papers on the table. Very poor reading, I assure you, but, for want of something better"--

When he had gone they remained silent for some time, not daring to look at each other. At last Mathilde sighed, and held out her hand to him, murmuring:--

"Jacob, we are old and good friends, and nothing more, are we not?"

"Madame," replied he respectfully, "time has not changed me, and the confidence you have in me will not be betrayed."

"When we seek to keep apart," said Mathilde, "fate reunites us. It is a temptation. Let us remain worthy of ourselves and worthy of our past, so pure. I cannot understand Henri. Ordinarily he is so jealous. He does not like to leave me alone with men. And to-day he has acted so differently. Is it confidence or indifference? I will ask him."

"What matters it? Tell me how you are, and why you left Italy so soon?"

"Because there is suffering everywhere, death everywhere. Since my marriage I am stricken at the heart. I must suffer, here or there. I am always suffering."

"And your health?"

"The soul alone is ill. But speak of yourself."

"I--I have neither the time nor the right to suffer. Man lives not by sentiment, but by action. It is this which renders us at the same time more miserable and more happy. In the struggle for existence, when we receive a wound, we have no right to think of it, and we must continue the combat. Even you, madame, why not seek a remedy for your sorrow?--an occupation, some aim in life."

"Occupations, my dear Jacob, are very limited for a woman without children. Without them, what object in life has a woman? Do you think that to sew and embroider can tranquillize a soul?"

"Reading, music, and poetry are inexhaustible sources of enjoyment. Believe me, madame, days well employed are not followed by satiety, regret, nor remorse. Those who have not the creative genius can assimilate immortal creations. It is a voluptuous life that draws away from the cares of existence."

"Alas! to follow your advice it had been necessary to be initiated to this manner of living, and to be accustomed to it."

"You can form the habit."

"I have already, thank Heaven, an occupation in music. It soothes me, absorbs me, and passes the time. But music occupies only a little corner in my heart, and cannot fill it entirely."

"Reading, then."

"Reading unveils to us too much the secrets of life. I speak of romances, the drama, and poetry."

"In that case seek, and you will find, some more serious occupation."

"I will try. But enough of this. Speak to me, Jacob, of yourself. For what have you returned? What are you going to do?"

"I return, heart and soul full of ideas, and more an Israelite than ever. I bring back projects of reform, of labour, and of sacrifice for my people. My views are almost presumptuous. I dream of being a Bar MaÏmonides. There is so much to do for our poor race."

"Do you believe it? Do you think that you can unite these scattered people?"

"Yes; provided that my strength holds out. The task will be difficult, arduous, and redoubtable."

"Who will be your disciples? The believers remain attached to their foolish superstitions. They will repulse you as a new kind of heretic. The unbelievers and the indifferent will listen to you as to a mad poet, and will ridicule you."

"The prophets have often been repulsed by the crowd, who have even at times stoned them to death. But each one of them has left in history traces of his passage, and the grain that they have sown has germinated."

"Then you will have the courage of a martyr? You deceive yourself, however, if you think that you will be riddled with stones in public places where you preach. You will, instead, have jokes thrown at you; you will be called a fool, and covered with ridicule. That will be a shabby martyrdom, absurd and insulting. The stoning would be preferable. Sarcasm is a mighty weapon."

"When a man is absorbed, inspired, and exalted, full of the truth that is within him, he does not see the pygmies in the crowd. It is the crowd, the mass only, that he sees. When so many of our people dream of nothing but money getting, no matter how, it is absolutely necessary that some one should take an interest in the moral elevation of souls, and devote himself entirely to this holy mission."

"How happy should I be to be your pupil! but I fear I am not capable of understanding such science, such wisdom. At times it seems as if I can foresee the future, but, really, I am very ignorant. Write out your thoughts and I will read them. I will learn them by heart, and I will spread them among those of my own sex who are deprived of the consolation of faith in God. Unfortunately, if you are a Barak, I am not a Deborah."

Jacob was about to reply when the door opened, giving entrance to Mathilde's father and husband, accompanied by Mann and Simon.

Henri had informed them of Jacob's arrival, and they were all invited to dinner. The acceptance on the part of an important person, like Mann, was extraordinary, for he usually made some excuse, and declined all ordinary invitations.

Jacob's former guardian ran to him with open arms, and cried:--

"Welcome! I embrace you, and wish you much happiness, Rabbi Jacob."

Mann cried at the same time:--

"I am rejoiced to hold your hand after so long an absence."

"How do you return to us, Akiba or atheist?" asked the jovial Simon.

"Neither one nor the other. I am the same as ever, only a little more alarmed as to the future."

"Then it was not worth while to leave Poland," replied Simon, "and you arrived just in time to assist in a revolution."

"It is no laughing matter," said Henri.

"I am not joking," said Simon. "I am organizing, myself, a regiment of Jewish gamins, that I shall lead to combat seated in a sedan chair. In place of a gun I will have my umbrella."

"Such pleasantry is ill-timed," replied Mathilde's father. "We are on the eve of grave events."

"It is every day more apparent. Alas!"

"Your 'alas,' Father Simon, shows that you condemn these revolutionary tendencies."

"How can I approve them?"

"It is useless to oppose public opinion," remarked Mann; "these fools will not listen to reason. When reason speaks they are deaf as a post. The best thing we can do is to look out for ourselves."

"The safest thing," added Simon, "is to conceal ourselves during the combat."

"Certainly. Why should we mix in it?" said Mann approvingly.

"To speak seriously," said Jacob, "there is, perhaps, another line of conduct to follow."

"The catastrophe is not yet certain," observed Henri, "for there are among them many reasonable men."

Mann rose from his seat and cried:--

"The catastrophe is certain. It cannot be otherwise with a clique of proud and degenerated men guided by their passions and not by reason."

"Dear Monsieur Mann, and what of us?" asked Simon. "Are we neither degenerate nor proud? Speak!"

"We are not to be compared with those men. We are worth much more."

"That is true. They are blind, we are only lame. The Jews are peaceable men, suited only for business. When there is disorder in the streets they close their shops."

"My faith! they are sensible to do so."

"Thus said my late papa," murmured Simon. "It is a sacred duty to follow his advice."

"You are always joking."

"And you, the day when you joke I will abstain from it. If no one throws a note of gayety into the conversation, they would say that Heine carried all the Jewish spirit into his tomb. It is a service I render you all. Mann, you do not know the efforts that you cost me."

The grave Israelite, wounded in his self-love, walked up and down the room, puffing and grumbling.

"And how does the country seem to you, dear Jacob?" asked Mathilde's father.

"Very much changed. How things have changed for us!"

"Why do you say us?" asked Simon. "The half, at least, of our people do not take part in this with us."

"The question is much discussed by the press."

"But, in general, public opinion favours us."

"Yes, in appearance," replied Mann. "The Poles affect to be liberal, but, at heart, they remain feudal aristocrats, incorrigible, and puffed up with pride."

"Listen," interrupted Simon, "to a word of advice. Do not speak of men 'puffed up with pride.' It is inconsistent on your part."

The great man looked at Simon, and said scornfully:--

"You are only an old fault-finder."

"Fault-finder, if you will, but look at yourself in the glass before you reproach others with being proud. Are you more approachable, more cordial, more charitable, than L. P. K., or many other nobles? They have their heraldry, you your millions. Two different causes, but both alike result in pride."

"Hold your peace, you are insufferable," cried the rich man.

Then he murmured between his teeth, "What an impudent fellow!"

Henri and his father-in-law laughed heartily at his wrath.

"Dear brother in Israel," continued Simon calmly, "each time that the nobles have a bad odour smell yourself. You will discover the same odour. You are at heart an aristocrat, but you lack the title."

"Enough! Enough!" cried Mann.

"No! It is not enough. I must get rid of my bile. If I do not I shall stifle, and that would be sad for me at first, for you afterward, if you wish to pay my debts. We were speaking of pride. Very well. If we have not crests surmounted with coronets, nor three hundred years of nobility"--

"Enough, I say! Enough!"

"Certainly, if you insist." And at last Simon consented to be silent.

Mann sulked awhile, then said to Jacob:--

"What news do you bring from Jerusalem? What is the condition of the Jews there? How do they live?"

"In misery. They ask our aid to help them emigrate to foreign lands. They await the signal of regeneration from us. We ought to listen to their appeal."

"You wish, then, to direct the world?"

"I have not that pretension. Akiba, however, was only a shepherd before he became a sage. I might, perhaps, follow his example."

"It is the contrary with which you are threatened, if you do not change your conduct," cried Simon. "From a sage you will become a shepherd."

His guardian laughed good-naturedly, and said:--

"Simon predicts the future well. Instead of reforming humanity, apply yourself to business, and leave God, in his wisdom, to direct the world according to his own plans."

"Can we not become the instruments of God? Ought we not to try and accomplish his designs? I have no wish to amass wealth. I am sufficiently rich."

"If your whim is to be a second Akiba," replied Simon, "I doubt if you will succeed. From the ashes of Akiba have sprung up BÖrne and Heine. The precepts of Heine in a book are fine; in flesh and blood, inconvenient."

"I do not like Heine," said Jacob.

They all exclaimed against this sacrilegious prejudice.

"Why do you dislike him? He represented in his day the true contemporaneous spirit of the Jews with the Kladderadatch."

"I do not like him, because his spirit is a spirit of destruction, debauchery of thought, debauchery of language, irony, scepticism, and abasement of human nature. All these are scattered among the pearls and diamonds. It is no less corruption though the author be remarkable for talent and genius. It is from this very corruption that we should free ourselves, for it is a presage of death; it is the death-rattle."

"Then," finished Simon, "JudÆorum finis."

"Yes. Finis JudÆorum et JudaÏsmi finis. The people of Israel resemble a man who, having preserved intact a treasure during a journey of a thousand leagues through forests full of brigands, lost it in a puddle at the door of his house. This treasure is our faith, and it is in danger."

"Dear Jacob, why do we always speak of religion and morality? You really believe, then, that they exist somewhere?"

"If they are dead, we should employ means to resuscitate them."

"Decidedly he is mad," muttered Mann to himself. Then he added in a loud voice:--

"I should be proud of such an honour, but I am unworthy."

"'And I," said Simon, "I advise you to devote your energies to a task less likely to prove disappointing. For example, seek in the Talmud the things forbidden to a Jewish stomach. MaÏmonides has counted twenty-four. With a little perseverance you can get it up to thirty. What a glorious discovery that would be!"

"What matters the number of dishes," said Jacob. "Yet the prohibition has produced good results, because it has set a limit to gormandizing."

"If you only knew, dear friend," said Simon, "what a savour there is in a sausage! A wealthy proprietor of Volhynie, although originally an Israelite, ate them to satiety, and afterward said: 'I stuff myself with sausages, for I eat them for myself and for my ancestors, who never tasted them during many generations.'"

"Truly," cried Henri, "the conversation takes an agreeable turn, thanks to sausages."

Mann, wearied with the lamentations of Jacob and the jests of Simon, started a new subject.

"Has any one here," asked he, "been at the house of Count A. Z. lately?"

The count was a person whose popularity increased daily, though it might be fleeting.

"I," responded the indefatigable Simon.

"And you were received?"

"Why not?"

"Very well. What did he say?"

"Always the same sobriety of words. His theory, like that of all the nobles, is that the Jews ought to work to obtain their rights,--like apprentices, in order to pass their companions and masters."

"He is right, up to a certain point," said Jacob.

"How is that?" asked Mann angrily. "Have we not, we who were born on the same soil, received from nature the same rights as these men? In what are nobles our superiors? Have we not gained our rights of equality by humiliations endured during ages?"

"Nature," replied Jacob, "has created us all equal. I do not deny that; but on the side of rights there are duties. If we do not share all the burden we shall not merit all the rights."

"But we could not escape the expense, that I know; and, with their usual haughtiness, the nobles do not welcome us to the Agricultural Society."

"Until the present day," said Jacob, "we have not had a single title to aspire to it. Yet I admit that the nobles are wrong to be so exclusive."

"Certainly. It is wrong for them to act thus; and, tell me, what is the object of the societies the nobles are organizing? It is to deprive us of our commerce."

"Perhaps that would be rendering us a great service, for with this single occupation we are losing prestige. It would, perhaps, be for the best if we were obliged to seek our means of existence elsewhere. Why should we always remain traders? Besides, thanks to our experience and ability, we have not much to fear from their competition, for they know nothing about business."

"But they will monopolize commerce. Their societies are directed against us. Their Agricultural Society is a conspiracy, a plot against the Jews. Everywhere we meet evidences of their hatred."

"And I do not think that on our side there is very much good-will either."

"And why should we like them?" interrupted Henri. "Though they are very polite, and sometimes even familiar, they exclude us from their intimacy and never accord us their friendship."

"We do the same."

"But with us it is different," replied Mann. "We have an excuse, for they have never ceased to render themselves odious."

"Then," concluded Simon, "we have a right to detest them, and their duty is to return love for hatred. Eh! If we slap them on one cheek, they must offer us the other! Besides, the Christian religion teaches that, does it not?"

Simon looked as serious as an owl as he spoke thus, but Mann continued, without smiling:--

"These nobles are fools! Their confidence is extravagant. They believe in the promises of Napoleon III.; they count on England, on Italy, on Hungary and Sweden, and even on Turkey. They await a revolution in Germany,--a revolution of potatoes, no doubt! They also hope much from troubles that are to arise in the interior of Russia. And from all this will infallibly come out the resurrection of Poland! What blindness!"

"In the meanwhile," observed Mathilde's father, "we are in a very disagreeable position. It is equally foolish for us to be on either side. Russia will prevail, that is certain; but during the combat the Poles can crush us and do us much evil, perhaps send us out of the country.

"You are mistaken," cried Henri.

"Yes," agreed Simon. "One has only to sit on two chairs to be sure that if one fails he can sit on the other."

"Naturally."

"One thing is clear to me," said Jacob. "It is, that we ought to side with Poland and share her fate, however disastrous the consequences may be. Self-sacrifice should be our watchword, and no matter what happens, our efforts will not have been in vain."

"In this," said Mann, "Jacob is not altogether wrong. In the proud days of the Polish republic many noble families were so divided that part of their members were for the king, and others against him. These took part in the insurrection; those sustained the government. They had a foot in each camp, and, whatever the result, the one saved the other. It is a good example to follow. It is necessary to keep the middle path: these are the ideas that should be scattered among our people."

"No, no!" cried Jacob. "Not the middle path! We must share the fate of Poland, without reservation."

Mann struck him on the shoulder and said:--

"You are very young."

"Yes, yes, he is young," repeated Simon, "and he ought to listen to the advice of those who have had some experience. It is for old fellows to tell young ones what to do."

Just then a lackey in livery and white gloves announced at the door that dinner was served. Mathilde, who had absented herself, appeared and took her father's arm, and Mann eagerly rose and hastened toward them.

It would be useless to dwell on the elegance of the table and the gastronomic perfection of the repast.

Henri ordinarily contented himself, in spite of his wealth, with a bit of bread and a glass of brandy. But when his vanity was affected nothing was too costly. He was full of apologies, pretending that this was an impromptu repast, and that he was afraid they would not find enough to eat. It was really a dinner for diplomats, and the menu was on rose-colored paper bordered with silver.

Mann affected a nonchalant air, so that his lack of education might not be noticed. He tied a napkin around his neck and ate in silence. The conversation turned on the gossip of the day.

Suddenly Mann addressed himself to Jacob in Polish, and said:--

"Although you are an orthodox Jew, you have infringed one of the most important laws of your religion."

"Oh, let us drop Judaism," said the master of the house, in French. "Avoid this subject before the servants."

"But what sin have I committed?" asked Jacob.

"A sin so great that you do not deserve to be called a man in the sight of the Lord."

"What is it, then?"

"How old are you?" said Mann.

"Twenty and over."

"Very well. Since the age of eighteen years you have been in sin, for you have not married, and that is the first duty of every Israelite. If you do not hasten to do so, Dumah will catch you one of these days, and throw you into the depths of hell!"

"I do not deny that youthful marriage is a duty," replied Jacob, "but I believe that our law tolerates some exceptions. As for myself, I have not the least wish to marry."

"How thoughtful Mann is!" cried Simon; "he wishes to put a halter around your neck, because misery loves company."

Jacob replied simply:--

"I cannot marry without love."

As he said these words he threw an involuntary glance toward Mathilde, who grew pale and looked down.

"What a rogue!" continued Simon, with a forced gravity. "To wish to put the sugar of love on the bitter dish of marriage, is to seek hypocrisy where one ought to expect duty and care only."

"Father Simon, we are so accustomed to your jests that your last remark can pass for one. It contains, however, many truths. Yet I venture to ask you if it is not permitted to aspire here below to a little joy and happiness? And true love can procure that."

"No; not in practical life. Romance has perverted your imagination."

"It is, then, forbidden to hope for a little poetry in this prosaic life?"

"Poetry! The Jew ought not to speak of it. Calculation should be our business. Two and two make five, because to admit that two and two make four implies a loss of interest. But to return to your marriage."

"Rather let us drop the subject."

"Very well," said Mann. "I assure you I will bore you about it until you decide. Unfortunately I have no more unmarried daughters. But I can recommend to you a charming young woman with a portion of a hundred thousand roubles."

"A hundred thousand roubles!" cried Simon. "You had better take her, Jacob."

"Thanks for your interest in me," said Jacob coldly, when Mathilde spoke in her turn.

"My uncle and cousin are right," said she, fixing her large, black eyes on him. "You ought to marry."

"What!" cried he sadly. "You also? You are in the plot?"

"Yes; because I desire to see you tranquil and happy."

"Singular receipt," murmured Simon.

"We had better leave the subject of marriage to the managing mammas. After all, we are meddling with something that does not concern us, and some day Jacob will be claiming damages and interest for having marriage put into his head," laughed Henri.

They arose from the table, and all the men save Jacob grouped themselves together.

"What do you think of him?" asked his former guardian of Mann.

"He is a remarkable man. He could be very useful to us if it were not for his religious whims. They are very well for the ignorant, but useless for enlightened men."

"Yes," replied Simon; "religion for you is cabbage soup for the poor. You prefer turtle soup."

"This mania will pass," added Segel; "the principal causes are his youthful enthusiasm, his poetic and devout spirit. Let us persuade him to engage in some useful and lucrative business; it is the best way to keep him from proclaiming himself Jew so often."

New visitors arrived; Mathilde was at the piano, and Jacob listened, all absorbed.