d that
such people would advance to her but a very small portion of the value
of her necklace; and then, if, as would be too probable, she could not
redeem it, the necklace would be gone, and gone without a price!

"Yes, it is my own, altogether my own--my very own." She had to explain
all the circumstances to the jeweller, and at last, with a view of
quelling any suspicion, she told the jeweler what was her name, and
explained how poor were the circumstances of her house. "But you must
be the niece of Madame Zamenoy, in the Windberg-gasse," said the
jeweller. And then, when Nina with hesitation acknowledged that such
was the case, the man asked her why she did not go to her rich aunt,
instead of selling a trinket which must be so valuable.

"No!" said Nina, "I cannot do that. If you will lend me something of
its value, I shall be so much obliged to you."

"But Madame Zamenoy would surely help you?"

"We would not take it from her. But we will not speak of that, sir.
Can I have the money?" Then the jeweller gave her a receipt for the
necklace and took her receipt for the sum he lent her. It was more than
Nina had expected, and she rejoiced that she had so well completed her
business. Nevertheless she wished that the jeweller had known nothing
of her aunt. She was hardly out of the shop before she met her cousin
Ziska, and she so met him that she could not escape him. She heard his
voice, indeed, almost as soon as she recognised him, and had stopped at
his summons before she had calculated whether it might not be better to
run away. "What, Nina! is that you?" said Ziska, taking her hand before
she knew how to refuse it to him.

"Yes; it is I," said Nina.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why should I not be in the Grosser Ring as well as another? It is open
to rich and poor."

"So is Rapinsky's shop; but poor people do not generally have much to
do there." Rapinsky was the name of the jeweller who had advanced the
money to Nina.

"No, not much," said Nina. "What little they have to sell is soon
sold."

"And have you been selling anything?"

"Nothing of yours, Ziska."

"But have you been selling anything?"

"Why do you ask me? What business is it of yours?"

"They say that Anton Trendellsohn, the Jew, gives you all that you
want," said Ziska.

"Then they say lies," said Nina, her eyes flashing fire upon her
Christian lover through the gloom of the evening. "Who says so? You say
so. No one else would be me