houldn't say such things."

"You are seeing too much of Anton Trendellsohn," said Souchey for the
third time. "Anton Trendellsohn is a Jew."

Then Nina knew that Souchey had read her secret, and was sure that it
would spread from him through Lotta Luxa, her aunt's confidential maid,
up to her aunt's ears. Not that Souchey would be untrue to her on
behalf of Madame Zamenoy, whom he hated; but that he would think
himself bound by his religious duty--he who never went near priest or
mass himself--to save his mistress from the perils of the Jew. The
story of her love must be told, and Nina preferred to tell it herself
to having it told for her by her servant Souchey. She must see Anton.
When the evening therefore had come, and there was sufficient dusk upon
the bridge to allow of her passing over without observation, she put
her old cloak upon her shoulders, with the hood drawn over her head,
and, crossing the river, turned to the left and made her way through
the narrow crooked streets which led to the Jews' quarter. She knew the
path well, and could have found it with blindfolded eyes. In the middle
of that close and densely populated region of Prague stands the old
Jewish synagogue--the oldest place of worship belonging to the Jews in
Europe, as they delight to tell you; and in a pinched-up, high-gabled
house immediately behind the synagogue, at the corner of two streets,
each so narrow as hardly to admit a vehicle, dwelt the Trendellsohns.
On the basement floor there had once been a shop. There was no shop
now, for the Trendellsohns were rich, and no longer dealt in retail
matters; but there had been no care, or perhaps no ambition, at work,
to alter the appearance of their residence, and the old shutters were
upon the window, making the house look as though it were deserted.
There was a high-pitched sharp roof over the gable, which, as
the building stood alone fronting upon the synagogue, made it so
remarkable, that all who knew Prague well, knew the house in which the
Trendellsohns lived. Nina had often wished, as in latter days she had
entered it, that it was less remarkable, so that she might have gone in
and out with smaller risk of observation. It was now the beginning of
September, and the clocks of the town had just struck eight as Nina put
her hand on the lock of the Jew's door. As usual it was not bolted,
and she was able to enter without waiting in the street for a servant
to come to her. She went at once al