After some weeks of sojourn at Warsaw Jacob met in the street Luci Coloni, accompanied by Gromof, her Russian cavalier of the grotto at Sestri. He was hastening to salute them, when he perceived that the lady and her companion turned as if to avoid him. Why this mystery? Jacob was puzzled, and paused on his way.

Ivas' affairs were soon arranged; it was no longer necessary to watch over him, and, freed from that anxiety, he dreamed of commencing his Judaic reform. He realized that he had two formidable obstacles to encounter,--on one side indifference, on the other, superstition. The superstitious would regard him as an atheist, the indifferent, as a bigoted fanatic.

Discouraged for the moment, as almost all reformers have been, he sought to regain his former enthusiasm by reading the Bible and the Talmud. To this end he shut himself up for several days, and came out determined to make converts, not among the old, whose convictions were settled, but among the youth, who were still animated with noble instincts. These it was whose opinion he would strive to form. Weary with his long meditations he was going out to walk in the fresh air, when he was handed a note from Madame Wtorkowska, written on satin paper, the contents of which were as follows:--

We shall be very happy to see M. Jacob at our house this evening. There will be a few friends and a little music.

Benigna Wtorkowska.

Jacob was not in the humour to accept, but he reflected that it would be impolite to refuse, and that perhaps he might meet Mathilde there, so he accepted the invitation.

The little villa occupied by the Wtorkowskas was a masterpiece of that modern art which transforms real misery into lying luxury. Nothing had been paid for, from the servants' livery to the satin robe worn by the hostess, and the lace-covered velvet dress of the charming daughter.

The refreshments, the bonbons, the flowers, were all obtained on credit. Twice a week Hermann and Grossmann demanded the money for the Pleyel grand piano, but in vain. The shabbiness of the furniture was concealed by new covers, the broken places in the frames of the pictures and mirrors were twined with ivy.

With all these frauds and ruses the little house, seen by the light of innumerable wax candles, took on an air of freshness and elegance. The studied disorder of objects thrown carelessly on the table was the result of long thought. Here, a French romance was displayed, to show acquaintance with current literature; there, pieces of classical music, to show the degree of perfection arrived at by the fair performer. On one side lay a photograph album containing portraits of celebrated men, implying a personal acquaintance with them.

Jacob arrived a little late. The company was too numerous for the salon, and the room was crowded. The guests occupied the couches and chairs, and some remained standing against the wall. There was heat and noise, and to move about demanded much skill.

Madame Wtorkowska received Jacob with studied politeness. Muse advanced toward him with a smile which she had practised before the glass. She led him to a little group where Mathilde was seated. Madame Segel wore a white robe, and on her breast was a large bunch of camellias of the same colour. She was pale; on the approach of Jacob she lifted her head, and greeted him with a slight blush and a melancholy smile.

After that the poor woman relapsed into a glacial torpor. Henri stood behind the chair of Mademoiselle Muse, whose toilet was so dÉcolletÉ that all admirers of certain feminine charms could feast their eyes to their hearts' content. Her thick and glossy braids were twined around her head in classic style, and served admirably to bring out the splendour of her eyes and complexion. She had the lively and brilliant expression of a lioness seeking whom she might devour. Her crimson velvet dress, covered with costly lace, bought on credit, became her admirably, and gave her a queenly air. On her lovely arm sparkled a large bracelet set with rubies.

Mathilde resembled an aerial spirit descended in a cloud of moonlit rays; Muse, a bacchante, full of sensuous vitality.

Henri whispered in Jacob's ear:--

"If I were free like you, I would not hesitate an instant; I would propose to this siren."

"And if I were in your place, and had such a wife as you have, I would not even look at her," said Jacob coldly.

Segel smiled ironically, pushed back his black hair from his forehead, and drew near Muse.

"Can you guess, mademoiselle," asked he in a low voice, "what advice I have just been giving Jacob?"

The charmer replied sweetly in an indifferent tone, although she perfectly understood what had passed between the two men.

"How can I guess, monsieur?"

"I advised him to fall in love with you."

"What bad advice!"

"Why?"

"Because I can never love any one."

"No one?" asked Henri tenderly.

"You have said it. I consider love as a dangerous malady, against which one should be on guard."

"A malady rarely fatal," said Henri smiling.

"No matter; I am afraid of it."

"A bad sign. It is said that there is much more danger of taking typhus or cholera when one fears it. It is a bad omen! Jacob"--

"Why, monsieur, why do you speak to me of this philosopher, this savant?"

"Hardly a philosopher: a mystic, a fanatic."

"Who flies from me," said Muse. "Help me, then, to tame him a little. I would like to talk with this savage."

"What would I not do for you, mademoiselle? I will bring him to your feet, be sure of that."

"You wish to marry him," thought Henri. "I will assist you, but I will claim my reward."

The treaty was concluded without further discussion, without protocol, between these two congenial spirits. Segel, wishing to hasten the execution, went to Jacob. He took his arm and said:--

"Come, then, to the divine Muse, who wishes to talk with you about Italy, with which her imagination is full."

"I fear I am not capable of doing justice to the subject," said Jacob.

"No matter. Come and try." So saying, he led him towards her, almost by force.

"This Jacob," said he to Muse, "is the most conscientious of tourists; he has travelled over Italy on foot while I went by the railway. He can tell you about it a hundred times better than I. He can speak to you of that land of art of which you have dreamed."

Muse, all smiles, turned to Jacob and said:--

"At last, monsieur, I have caught you, whether you will or not; you must tell me of that Italy where I am always begging mamma to take me."

"I regret very much not to be enough master of my subject to give you a just idea of that beautiful land. It is not sufficient merely to have visited it, one must have lived there to fully appreciate its beauties."

"Pardon me, but I do not agree with you. Travellers often know more of a country than its inhabitants."

"Superficially, yes; but the spirit, the soul of a country, only reveals itself after long study."

"Italy is delightful, is it not?"

This question was not a skilful one. But it was necessary to get Jacob started on some subject, so that she could exercise all the feminine seductions of a determined woman, resolved to succeed, and employ all the resources of her consummate art, aided by her natural charms. What an actress she was! An actress in every glance, every movement, even in the inflexions of her voice! She spoke feelingly without the least inner emotion; she spoke of feelings of which she only knew from hearsay. Judging all men more or less vain, she sought by delicate flattery to fascinate and subjugate them. By turns lively or melancholy, sensible or careless, she was charming under all circumstances.

However, she made no impression on Jacob, who remained cold and impassible. As if to alleviate his enforced captivity, he at times glanced at the chaste and pure woman who was seated not far from him absorbed in melancholy, and who seemed to him like an ideal queen covered with a saintly aureola.

Muse was exasperated by Jacob's invulnerable indifference, but desired more than ever to bring him to her feet. She let her evident efforts to enslave him be seen. Her mother surveyed the manoeuvres of her daughter, which she found too bold, although she could not help admiring the audacity with which the attack was made.

Jacob was obliged, at the request of Muse, to conduct her to the piano. She took off her gloves slowly, and, coquettishly, radiant, continued her conversation in a low voice, so as to give the idea that a sort of intimacy was established between them.

"My dear," remarked Madame N. to Madame X., "Emusia is conducting herself in a scandalous manner."

"Bah! Young ladies of her stamp always succeed in their matrimonial pursuits."

Just then the mistress of the house came to them, and Madame X. said:--

"We have just been speaking of your charming daughter. She is really enchanting this evening. Madame N. and I cannot take our eyes off her. She turns the head of every one,--even the old."

"My Emusia," replied Madame Wtorkowska, "is all simplicity, all candour, although sometimes her very simplicity and frankness look like coquetry."

At this reply from the mother, her two guests exchanged glances behind her back.

"Why, she has taken Jacob by storm," cried his former guardian to Mann. "This Muse outdoes herself on his account. She did not trouble herself to amuse him before he got his fortune. It was not worth while to notice the poor beggar for whose education I paid."

"The Berlin banker's legacy has made him a desirable match. She will finish by capturing him," said Mann.

"I don't believe it, for I know my Jacob. He is not at ease in her society. You cannot catch all fish with the same hook. My son-in-law, Henri, would have taken the bait immediately. Jacob is afraid of her. He likes quiet women who are modest and timid. He is a poet."

"Certainly the creature is far from that, and I congratulate the man who"--

Mann did not finish his remark, for suddenly the music ceased. Jacob was free from the chains of courtesy. He seated himself near Mathilde, who received him with a smile.

The pale moonlight streamed in from the windows which opened on the veranda, and the light was softened by the leaves of the wild vines, which, with their long serpentine clusters, climbed over everything.

They both wished to fly from this crowd, both wished to be alone; but to put this project into execution was not easy.

Again Muse played, and under her skilful fingers the notes wept, groaned, sang, murmured, and sighed. It was Liszt's music. Every one was enchanted.

"She is wonderful," said Mathilde. "As for myself, when I have been a half-hour at the piano I am fatigued. It seems to me that my tired soul flies away with the sounds. But what power she has! She laughs at difficulties, and rises even fresher and more radiant."

"It is there, truly, that one finds the difference between her playing and yours. You put your soul into it. Her playing does not affect me at all. It is as if the piano played alone. With you, the soul sings to me."

"No, she is a true artiste. I am only a musician."

"I cannot admire the artists of the present day. They are but the masters of their art, skilled workmen who know all the tricks of their trade. The shepherd who by inspiration plays on his bagpipe a simple air, be it very simple, very primitive, is much more an artist than this or that fashionable performer. Like everything else, art has been profaned in these days; it has become mercenary; it is a bread-winner, and not a priesthood. The artist of to-day strives for the fame that pays best, and not for the contentment of his soul. Who, then, now-a-days would paint frescoes for nothing but piety and for the love of God? Music, literature, painting, all at present go to the highest bidder. Muse belongs to the modern school. She has art, but art without soul. She plays Liszt and Walberg, but Chopin is inaccessible to her. She seizes the bizarre side of Schumann, but the pathetic side, never!"

"You judge her a little too severely. There is in the depths of her heart a little divine light, on her brow a little flame. But, alas! the unfortunates are not sure of to-morrow's bread, and I cannot help regarding with pity this woman and her daughter, for I know their situation."

"Are they not rich?"

"No! They are poor, very poor, though they affect riches."

"This is frightful. This comedy of luxury is odious. The tears of dupes will pay for it. Indigence with courageous labour is a hundred times to be admired."

"It is true, but false pride"--

"That word tells all; it is real deceit."

"She pains me," said Mathilde. "Under the velvet there must be tears and anxiety; at the door poverty waits while they serve a sumptuous repast; to-morrow, solitude after the brilliant reunion of to-day. What a tragedy! It pains me even to think of it."

Muse ceased to play.

Every one applauded, and Henri hastened to kiss the artiste's hand. Mathilde, who was stifling in this atmosphere, said to Jacob,--

"Let us go out a moment and get some fresh air. No one will miss us. I cannot breathe."

They passed through the crowd and reached the veranda. Muse followed them with her eyes, and turned ironically upon Henri.

"I see," replied he to the mute question, "that my wife was too warm. She has gone out on the veranda with Jacob."

"Then you are not jealous?"

"Near you, mademoiselle, I think of you alone."

"You have no right to talk thus."

"Do you not know that that which is illegal is most attractive to men?"

"You are perversity in person!"

"Alas! a god would succumb before you, how much more a simple mortal."

"Truly, monsieur, you flatter me."

"No, mademoiselle, I assure you."

Then he spoke to her in a low voice with much familiarity, and with a perfect understanding.

When Mathilde left the salon she gave her hand to Jacob at the threshold.

"What is the matter, my child?" said he tenderly.

"I feel very happy," said she; "I know not why, and very calm. I desire nothing. It seems as if my life were slipping away little by little. You are by my side; I am sure of your affection. What further happiness can I have?"

"There would be very few who would be satisfied with a chaste love like ours. When I observe in the world the different personalities, different characters, I think, mademoiselle"--

"Why do you call me mademoiselle?"

"I think, I say, that there are in each human being two powers who are antagonistic, like God and Satan. The contrasts are often striking. For example, you and Muse."

"Do not judge her so harshly; you should be indulgent to all."

"Very well. Who, then, are pure and innocent in the depths of their souls around us? Life is short. Every one must taste the bitter cup. Every one has his troubles, and most men, instead of seeking happiness in their own souls, seek it elsewhere and find it not. The world terrifies me with its variety of elements where evil predominates over good. I cannot understand this predominance of evil."

"That is one of God's secrets, incomprehensible to our finite intelligence. What good will it do us to try, like the Titans, by force to pierce the closed heavens? Man seems to be the plaything of an implacable irony. He bears within him the sparks of an ardent fire, but he does not succeed in developing a large flame, for the wind of his passions scatters the firebrands. In his heart exist noble sentiments which are changed into gross appetite. Man grows more corrupt instead of purer. All is surprise in life; all an enigma. Then this dream of immortality and a future existence. Can we believe it?"

She smiled sadly, and Jacob listened. Under their eyes lay a superb view. A light breeze murmured through the dark foliage of the old trees in the avenue. In the sky, the moon glided through the deep azure, and the stars twinkled as if to shake slumber from their eyelids. In the distance could be heard the faint sound of the city.

"In contemplating creation," said Jacob, "do you not hear something within you say that we shall live beyond the tomb? That thought should destroy all fear for the future. Even if thousands of years of faith do not confirm this hope, it shines in the reply of the soul like stars in the depths of a well."

"It is impossible," said Mathilde. "In any case, the other life will not be like this. My future will not be a continuation of this miserable existence. Perhaps I shall come again to live on earth. Oh, who knows anything about it?"

"This death, so terrible to most of us, is represented in our Hebrew books as a sweet, an easy, passage to another existence. The Talmud, Berakhot 5, calls it the kiss of God."

"How sorry I am not to have read those books, and to know so little of the Hebrew language! I have been educated for the world. My soul has not been nourished. The tempest of doubt has overthrown it."

"There is yet time, dear Mathilde."

"No, it is too late. Faith is the beverage of youthful souls. When unbelief is developed, the ground is dried up and a new graft cannot shoot forth. But God is full of mercy and pity. He will not punish us when we are not in fault. He will make allowances for our education."

They were silent, but had no desire to return to the salon, where Muse, at the piano, was playing one of Liszt's most brilliant compositions.

"Come, Jacob," said Mathilde, "you must do your duty. Go and compliment Muse. I will not be jealous. She is on the wrong path; you can convert and save her."

"It is too late; that which you falsely said about yourself applies to her. Her intelligence and her heart have matured, and her character is already formed."

They entered the salon. Mathilde's first glance showed her husband leaning on the back of Muse's chair, and his tender glances told that he was very much impressed. She did not feel the slightest chagrin. She was completely indifferent to Henri, and she rejoiced to think that he amused himself elsewhere, provided he spared her all importunate tenderness.

Madame Wtorkowska was very nervous; she feared that the entertainment would not lead to the desired results. Jacob seemed absolutely indifferent to her daughter's charms; as for the other young men, they all admired her, but at a distance; and the marked attentions of Henri Segel displeased her because they came from a married man. With music, singing, cards, tea, and supper, the soirÉe was prolonged to a late hour. The elder guests took leave under pretext of engagements in the morning. Mathilde went home, as she had a headache, and left the field free to her husband. Jacob had accompanied her to her door, and had received his orders to return. This thinning out of the rooms favoured the charmer's plans.

The young man carelessly turned the leaves of an album; his conduct during the evening had strictly conformed to the rules of politeness. Yet this cold observation of the proprieties exasperated Madame Wtorkowska, who resolved to undertake his subjugation herself. She drew near him, and, as Jacob rose to give her his seat she said, taking his arm:--

"Monsieur, let us walk a little, and tell me about yourself. Now that you have returned to us, what do you intend to do?"

Surprised by these attentions, he replied:--

"I intend to study and lead a life of leisure."

"We have heard so much in your praise," said she, "that we were very desirous of knowing you."

"I am infinitely obliged, madame."

"Especially, Emusia. She admires such men."

She could not find an adjective to designate exactly what kind of men, and added after a moment of hesitation:--

"I mean superior men. For, you see, my Emusia is a young girl of talent. What intelligence, what gifts! She devours an incredible quantity of books. Her memory is prodigious. Her wit is of the finest quality. In short, if she were not my daughter I would say that she is a marvel."

"That is what I hear from every one," said Jacob politely.

"My situation," continued she, "is an anxious one, for I have a mother's heart. To whom will my cherished one give herself? Will he appreciate her? Alas, the young men of to-day are so frivolous!"

"Mademoiselle Emusia has but to choose."

"How little you know the young men, monsieur!"

For want of breath the mother stopped. She had commenced the battle with so much impetuosity that she was already worn out. She could think of nothing more to say. She was driven to her last intrenchments, and, on his side, Jacob had exhausted all his praises. Notwithstanding, after a moment of reflection she took breath and continued:--

"You, who are so great a connoisseur, what do you think of Emusia's playing?"

"It is truly marvellous, madame."

"Liszt, the master, was stupefied with astonishment when my daughter played for him his overture to Guillaume Otello. He watched her execute this, that, all the most difficult parts, and was wild with enthusiasm. It was at Spa. There was such clapping of hands, bravos that almost shook the house, an avalanche of bouquets! What an ovation, mon Dieu!"

"It was merited, no doubt."

"Oh, yes," said the mother. "An Erard piano fairly spoke under her fingers. She has such strength and incredible power."

She was thus extolling her daughter when the young lady herself came to join in the conversation. Her eyes shone wrathfully. The more invulnerable Jacob showed himself, the more she was determined to bring him to her feet. Henri had given her the key to the character of this man, whom he called a religious fanatic. She resolved to read and study the Bible, and even the Talmud, if necessary. Already she commenced to play her new rÔle.

"I detest these noisy pleasures," said she. "Reading, meditation, quiet, they are the things that I love. And you?"

"I also love study and tranquillity," said Jacob.

"You men," said Muse, "have everything in your favour. You can, at your pleasure, devote yourselves to intellectual occupations; you are not slaves to the obligations of society, as we poor women are. You cannot imagine what a humiliation it is for a young girl to be taken continually here and there, and shown like merchandise."

"Mademoiselle, although what you say is partly true, I assure you that the mothers and daughters exaggerate these pretended obligations. Our poet, Krasicki, has said somewhere, 'Nothing ever comes of a dialogue prepared with too much care.'"

"That is very true, monsieur. Also most matches that end happily are made without thought, and as it were by a miracle."

"Yes, I am convinced of that."

"And it is probably by a miracle also," added the elder woman, "that marriages are maintained."

"Have you been in the Orient?" asked Emusia, to change the conversation.

"Yes, mademoiselle, and I bring back a sad impression. The land of poetry is to-day the land of misery. The cradle of civilization has become the tomb."

"But there are still traces there of biblical times, are there not?" asked Muse.

"Certainly. The costumes, the habits, the landscape, all remind one of the Bible. As in old days, Rachel still leads her flocks to water, and the white-bearded patriarchs still welcome you to their tents."

"All that must be very interesting."

"Not for the children of a civilization, enervated and weakened. We can no longer live this poetical life. It is rigid, painful, grave, primitive, and laborious. It impresses us, notwithstanding its poetry, with a strange emotion toward the fountains which now are dried up."

"And the old biblical traditions?"

"They clash on all sides. With us the old traditions are preserved, like withered plants in an herbarium; while there they still live, mixed with the daily existence. With what emotion one contemplates stones taken from the aqueducts of Solomon, the ruins of the temple, the places sanctified by the patriarchs! Christians and Jews both find there the cradle of their faith. In Europe we are only colonists."

Emusia had taken a reclining attitude near Jacob, and listened with great attention. The mother profited by the occasion, and left them alone. Thus these two, in the midst of a crowd, found themselves alone.

Simple politeness forbade Jacob's retreat. Muse attempted to magnetize him by her glances, by her gestures, by the sight of her gleaming shoulders, by her beauty, while she idly played with her bracelet, her rings, and her embroidered handkerchief, useless for any other purpose.

The young man scarcely perceived these affected and enticing airs.

"I know not," said she with hesitation, "if it be owing to the blood that flows in my veins, but this Orient has for me a certain attraction. It is thither that my desires tend. It has been torn from us, and we have been forced to forget it. It is a source of sadness for me that I know a mass of useless things, and that I am ignorant of that which most interests me."

"What, for example?" asked Jacob, interested in spite of himself.

"I will tell you," replied she, in a low voice with a feigned alarm, "provided mamma does not hear me. I am curious about all that concerns us that is Jewish. A Christian nominally, I am of Jewish blood, and Jesus has declared that he did not come to destroy the ancient law. Mamma, like many of our race, avoids and forbids all allusion to the past."

"If you really wish it, mademoiselle, you can easily become familiar with our traditions; you have only to consult several books."

"Alas! I do not know Hebrew."

"There are translations in many languages."

"Really? Could you not secretly lend me one or two? I would be very grateful to you; but it must remain a secret between us."

This was a skilful move. Mystery brought them together. Emusia quietly put her little hand into Jacob's, and pressed it warmly as if to thank him. This grasp produced on the young man the effect of an electric current. He felt uneasy, troubled, and confused, as if he had committed a sin.

"I will send you some volumes," murmured he.

"That is not all," said she sweetly, still keeping her hand in his. "Guide me in the study for which I thirst. I have hours of liberty; mamma goes out often, and I am at home alone. I depend on you to be my master, my instructor, in the first principles of the faith of our ancestors. This may appear a little odd on my part, but you will excuse my ardent desire for light."

"I fear"--

"No scruples, monsieur! If I have appeared impressed by you, I assure you it was only because I wish to learn from you something of Judaism."

A slight feeling of suspicion entered Jacob's mind, but he thrust it away from him with contempt. He would not admit that acting could be carried so far. He believed that Muse was sincere, and he arose to go with a much better opinion of her than when he came. She seemed to him more beautiful than before, and with something poetical about her. He sought already in his imagination for the biblical type to which this strayed lamb of the fold of Israel belonged. He felt no sympathy for her yet, but his curiosity was awakened and his repugnance had disappeared.

Emusia was radiant, and in her triumph said to herself:--

"I have hit Achilles in the heel."