Carried away in the whirl of active city life, Jacob, since his residence in Warsaw, had had little communication with his family, who had remained in his native province. Twice a year he received, by letter, his mother's blessing, and news of his sister and elder brother. Despite the intellectual distance which education had put between him and his relations, he did not forget them, and he scrupulously acquitted himself of his duties as son and brother. Since the recent political disturbances he had been deprived of a correspondence from which he always derived much pleasure, and to the regularity of which he was accustomed, and he felt a certain inquietude in consequence.

One day, on returning home, he was informed by his servant that an old woman, dressed in strange fashion, who said she was a near relation, waited to see him. In saying this the servant seemed a little embarrassed.

"I knew not what to do," added he awkwardly; "I told this person that monsieur was absent, but she was obstinate and would not go. She raised her voice, and the noise attracted the attention of the servants on the floor below, and it would have created a disturbance if I had, as I at first intended, ordered her out. So there she is, monsieur."

"Who is this woman?" asked Jacob.

The servant, judging his master by his own way of seeing things, dared not reply.

"I do not understand who she can be," muttered he. "She did not pronounce her name distinctly. I believe she has come to ask for help. I am not positive."

As soon as he opened the door Jacob saw a woman who was walking up and down the room, examining everything with curiosity. She was dressed in the ancient costume of a Polish Jewess. She wore a black dress of strange but simple fashion, and around her throat a necklace of pearls with a large gold medallion; a long black mantle completed her costume, and her face was sprinkled with patches, following the ancient fashion for Jewesses.

Jacob divined, rather than recognized, his mother, and with a cry of joy threw himself at her feet and covered her hand with kisses. The old woman was so agitated that she could hardly speak, and her eyes filled with tears.

Jacob seated her on the sofa and ran for a glass of water. In his haste he ran against the servant who was peeping through the key-hole, and who had no time to conceal himself.

"Go for water!" cried Jacob. "You gave this lady a fine reception! It is my mother!"

"That is just what she told me," murmured the man; "but"--

"Not another word! Get some water, I tell you!"

When he returned, he found his mother much calmer.

"God of Israel, how great has been thy goodness to my child! Oh, if his father could have seen the elegance with which he is surrounded, he could not have said enough prayers to express his gratitude! God of Moses! Alas! I can only thank thee by my tears."

"The most precious gift of God for me," said Jacob, "is the joy of a mother's heart."

"Your prosperity is the celestial recompense for your father's virtues. This recompense has not been accorded to all my children. Sarah is ill. Miriam's children are dead. I could not resist the desire to embrace thee once more before I die. I said to myself, 'Perhaps he will be ashamed of his old mother;' that kept me. Afterward, I thought that at the worst I should have seen thee, if even from afar, and given thee a secret blessing."

"How couldst thou, dearest mother, think me capable of such vile ingratitude, and such forgetfulness of the commandments of God?"

"O my Jacob, I know the world! Your eldest brother respects me, although I am not his mother, but only his father's wife. He is a good man; yet if I go to his house poorly dressed, when he has elegant visitors, I can see that he is ashamed of me. But don't be afraid, my son, I will not show myself before your fine friends."

"Then you will cruelly offend me," cried Jacob. "Never shall I be ashamed of my mother, nor my father, nor my race, nor my religion, nor anything holy. To conceal one's origin is a foolish pride, a criminal lie."

Just then the servant entered, much disturbed, and said:--

"One of monsieur's friends is here; shall I show him in?"

"Certainly," said Jacob.

It was Mathilde's father. He did not recognize his relative, and was surprised to see an old Jewess seated on the sofa. He had suspected Jacob of entertaining a visitor of another kind.

"Mother, you remember Monsieur Samuel, our cousin, and my guardian?" said Jacob. "I owe everything to him."

"After God, it is to you that I am most grateful," replied Jacob's mother.

Monsieur Samuel was somewhat embarrassed; he succeeded, nevertheless, in addressing some words of courtesy to the good woman, and to relieve himself of his embarrassment he drew Jacob aside under pretext of pressing business.

"I came to consult with you," said he; "but we can leave it until some other time. Now let me ask you, what will you do with your mother?"

"The name of 'mother' is my only reply."

"A beautiful phrase; but do not be sentimental, I beg of you, dear Jacob. Do not compromise yourself in the eyes of the world. This queerly dressed old woman, if she is seen with you, will hurt us socially as well as you. You cannot brave public opinion."

"I do not care to cultivate the acquaintance of those who mock my affection for my mother," said Jacob. "This will prove their worth; thus I can tell the gold from the baser metal."

"A truce to poetry! Let us look on life as it really is. As soon as the world scents a Jew, it will tolerate him only when his perfume is sweet; the odours of the iarmulka are obnoxious."

"I will make no concessions to the prejudices of the world," said Jacob.

"Well, then, spare me the honour of receiving a visit from your mother."

Jacob grew pale and his eyes flashed.

"You have been my benefactor," said he slowly. "Do not make me forget it."

"Excuse me, there are degrees in Judaism; for example, I give myself out as a descendant of rich German Jews."

"Why do you prefer the German Jews," asked Jacob with a smile of pity. "Are they any the less Jews?"

"Perhaps not. But they rank higher, and their past is different. Will your mother live with you?"

"I hope so. I shall be very glad to have her near me."

"I see that it is useless to reason with you. I cannot convince you; but if you have thoughts of Muse, I advise you to be careful."

"I do not dream of Mademoiselle Wtorkowska."

"There have been rumours"--

"These rumours have no foundation."

"The presence of your mother in your apartments will shock many people."

"So much the worse for them. I do not intend to offer my mother as a holocaust."

"Has she brought any more of the family?"

"I believe that she is alone. Poor old woman! to see me she has undertaken a long and wearisome journey."

"She had better have sent for you to come to her, instead of suddenly appearing at Warsaw."

Then Mathilde's father returned to the salon, saluted the old woman politely, and took his leave.

On the first floor of the house the news of the arrival of a Jewess in the ancient national costume was circulated from mouth to mouth. Jacob's servant had no secrets from the Wtorkowska's maid, and he soon told her all about it; she carried the news to madame, who, inspired by Paul de Kock, her favourite author, arranged the story in her own fashion and went to relate it to Muse.

"It is nothing to me," cried the young lady. "Jacob is no longer on my list."

"Alas," replied Madame Wtorkowska, "to be so rich and to remain such an obstinate Jew!"

"Mamma, would you have any objection to Sofronof, if he declares himself?" asked Emusia.

"Do as you wish. Provided that you marry, your choice will be mine. Yet be on your guard with this Sofronof. These Russians have no scruples, no delicacy; to break a woman's heart is for them a pleasure, something to glory in. Under apparent splendour, they are often penniless adventurers who come to Poland to replenish their purses. I know the Russians well. Many of them parade about in a brilliant uniform and live in poverty."

"Mamma, Sofronof has a fine property in the province of Kostroma."

"I have met these brilliant officers who boast of possessing hundreds of peasants near Iaroslaf or Tambof. They lied, and this one may also. Let us go to Kostroma. The government pays these colonels so poorly, and even the generals, that they are obliged to rob to cut any figure."

"It is not called robbery in Russia. They give it another name,--indirect revenue, I believe. The country is so organized that the employÉs, civil and military, without exception, procure indirect revenues to increase their salary."

"Yes, dear Emusia, I regret Jacob. Unfortunately, he has a mother who is an impossible Jewess."

"If I willed it, nevertheless, I could make him leave father, mother, and religion. I am sure I could overcome him; but I do not care to make any more efforts in that direction. Jacob is not congenial to me. My favourite, you know, is Henri."

"You always force me to repeat that he is married."

"The obstacle is Mathilde. She will soon die, and Henri would marry me immediately."

"The grapes are too green."

"We will see, and as a last resort I have always Sofronof."

Some days after the arrival of Jacob's mother Henri Segel said to his father-in-law:--

"This Jacob is intractable. He will never be a society man. Presumptuous and obstinate, he refuses to see the world as it is. His head is full of fantasies from the Talmud, of dreams of reform, strange ideas of fraternal union. He is for Poland, and at the same time against the revolution. He refuses to enter into relations with the most important persons. He keeps to himself and is a real savage; useless to the world, yet not deprived of intelligence. But he is of no use to us."

"He always reminds me of the beggary from which I took him," said Samuel. "He seems to be proud of it."

"It is too bad; with his large acquaintance he could have been of great service to us. He has good manners and a sympathetic character. No one would ever take him for a Jew, if he did not foolishly avow his origin on every occasion. He is compromising in society. Men of his calibre are destined to an evil end, and he makes himself disagreeable to all. He must be blind, to act so much against his own interests."

"Have you heard about his mother?"

"Not yet."

"Imagine, then, a Jewess of the lowest rank suddenly appearing at his house. He has welcomed her, and made much of her, and walked with her on the public streets. He would have brought her to me, if I had not begged him to spare me this ridicule."

"The same danger threatens me, I fear, and he is capable of choosing the very day when I have the best society of Warsaw in my salon. This eccentric has turned Mathilde's head. She will suffer no one to ridicule him, and looks on him as a saint."

"They have indulged in a Platonic romance since their childhood; but I will give you the means of breaking the charm which enchains my daughter's spirit. Behold! he whom she takes for a saint pays his tribute to frail humanity."

"How? I have never heard any scandal about Jacob."

"He has concealed it well; but I have a good detective who has told me that this sage, learned in the books of Solomon, follows the footsteps of that voluptuous monarch. Only they are not beautiful Midianites with whom he shares his wealth. He has succumbed to a pure-blooded Jewess."

"Tell me about it, I beg of you."

"Well, you know that I like to look about me a little everywhere. Sometimes I profit by it, and it always amuses me. Sometimes in one direction, sometimes another, I have bloodhounds that I chat with. Of late, that old man with a red nose, whom they call Trompette, has spied about for me. One day I was occupied; he insisted on seeing me, and came in with a mysterious air as if he had a state secret. He told me that Monsieur Jacob,--you will never guess,--the pious Jacob, had a mistress. She is a Jewess, whose father is very rich. The romance has lasted a long time, for the result is a child, on account of which she has been turned from her father's house."

"Well, well!" cried Henri. "Why, it is impossible!"

"At first he hid her with the greatest mystery in a little old house in the rue des Jardins. Now he has established her, still secretly, in a much more comfortable place in Saint George's street. He often goes there in the evening. I know it to be so, and I am told that the girl is pretty, graceful, and modest."

"How does he reconcile this proceeding with his principles?" asked Henri. "Really, I am surprised."

Samuel laughed heartily, and added:--

"Yes; Jacob has concealed this intrigue well; but some day I'll tease him about it. That will be great fun."

"I can hardly believe it yet," said Henri.

"There is no doubt whatever, I assure you. Jacob supports a pretty girl, and she lacks nothing. If you think it is for love of humanity and chastity, explain his motive."

"He is, then, a Don Juan disguised as an anchorite. It is a side of his character that I have never suspected. I never dreamed of it."

"Do you wish to be convinced with your own eyes? Here is the address, go and see for yourself; you are one of the family, and you might take a little trouble about it. The thing ought to be cleared up. You will not fail, with a little pains, to surprise the gay Lothario in flagrante delicti. After that he will not talk so much about the saints and holy writ. At heart he is no better than the rest of us."

"Alas, poor Jacob, where is your character now! Do you know how this original romance commenced?"

"It is a secret that you will discover, no doubt. I can only say one thing, that it is a secret no longer."

"But it is such a short time since he returned, that the connection must have begun abroad. Who knows where? Perhaps at the baths."

Henri Segel, seemingly absorbed in thought, went in the early evening to see Muse. This was for him the privileged hour for a charming interview, when no one ventured to disturb them, not even Sofronof. She had so well arranged her time that her favourites never ran the risk of meeting each other. The early part of the evening was given to Henri, who could then at his ease chat and joke with the siren and kiss her lovely hands. Segel was so preoccupied that the young lady noticed it.

"What has come over you?" asked she. "Why are you so quiet? Have you lost at the Bourse, or has your dancer left you for the epaulets?"

"How cruel you are, dear mademoiselle, to think that such selfish preoccupations should cloud my brow."

"I think that you are a sensible and practical man, that is all."

"Well, this time you deceive yourself. That which troubles me is the downfall of a man whom"--

"The fall of a man? That is curious."

"Very curious."

"Do I know the man?"

"Very well. He is one of your friends."

"Speak, then! Why distil your story drop by drop?"

"It is Jacob."

"A fall! His mother's visit, then?"

"No; better than that."

"What, then?"

"An original adventure, a strange story. Jacob, our saint, our immaculate Jacob, has a mistress by whom he has a child."

"Pure calumny!" said Muse.

"At first I thought so too; but, alas! it is a fact; there is good proof."

"This will destroy his character."

"Simple truth that all men are fallible," said Henri.

"I am dying to know the details!" cried Muse. "Is she young, pretty, blond or brunette, poor or rich, well educated?"

"She is only a little Jewess, daughter of a merchant, but young and very pretty."

"When did this intrigue commence?"

"I am ignorant of the circumstances. It was my father-in-law, whom nothing escapes, who discovered it. At first I did not believe it, but he soon convinced me. The girl lived in the rue des Jardins for a while, now in Saint George's street."

"And this offspring of which you spoke?"

"Did you not understand me?"

Muse smiled and did not repeat her question, she only added:--

"He played so well the rÔle of chaste Joseph that no one would have suspected him of this."

"Humbug! His character now appears to me in a new light. I must commence to study him again; until now I was all astray."

"I," replied Muse, "was convinced that he was ice toward women. At last I see that he is vulnerable." She was so impatient to repeat this scandal to her mother that she dismissed Henri.

"At present," said she, after finishing her story, "this man seems to me more inexplicable than ever. A common girl succeeds where I have failed."

"He loves; that explains all," said her mother.

"He loves! That is no reason; it is no excuse. I am furious, now that I see that his coldness was only assumed so as not to marry me."

Colonel Sofronof paid dear for Muse's vexation. She deprived him of little bits of news that she had been in the habit of giving him, and in order to irritate him displayed some patriotic songs. However, he did not get angry, but only smiled, and said:--

"You are not feeling well to-night."

The calumny spread rapidly. Henri arrived home in good humour. Not finding visitors, he resigned himself to tea with his wife. After tea the Englishwoman read in one corner, Mathilde in another; finally Segel broke the prolonged silence.

"Have you seen Jacob lately?" asked he.

"No; he has not been here for some time."

"Without doubt his mother's society"--

"Yes, he told me of her arrival," said Mathilde.

"Has he ever spoken of any one else?"

"Of whom, then?"

"Bah! It is useless to tell you. It is not worth while to destroy your illusions. You have an affection for Jacob; let it rest."

The least curious of women have still a little touch of curiosity, especially in regard to the man they love. Mathilde became uneasy.

"I am sure," said she with agitation, "that Jacob has done nothing to destroy the good opinion that I have of him."

"If you are sure, so much the better."

"Do not torment me thus. As you have commenced, tell me all."

"Why should you take this lively interest in Jacob," said Henri smiling.

"I love him as a brother; I have never concealed it. We were brought up together."

"Well, this Jacob has committed no crime. He simply possesses a mistress whom he conceals from public view." Then he repeated cynically all he had heard, with a malicious irony.

"If you do not believe me," added he, "ask your father. He is the one that discovered the secret."

During this narration Mathilde had grown red and pale, and listened with bowed head, trembling nervously. Suddenly she raised her head and said boldly:--

"It is a lie! I believe neither you nor my father. It is an unworthy calumny."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because it is not possible."

With these words, instead of going to the piano as usual, she went and shut herself up in her room, where she could give free vent to her tears. Until then she had been so proud of the man whom she had made her ideal. Her idol was overthrown from his pedestal and was reduced to the level of ordinary men.

Then she said to herself:--

"No, it cannot be possible." An inner voice replied: "They are all built on the same model. The whole world is corrupt."

Life now appeared so empty, so sombre, so odious to her that she would gladly have died. The next day when she seated herself at the table, her face bore traces of the great suffering she had endured. She was very pale, and her features were drawn and pinched. She replied indifferently to her husband's questions, and pleading a violent headache, hastened again to her chamber. She wished to be alone with her sorrow.