lf. Does your father know of this?"

"Not yet."

"Your father knows nothing of it, and you come and tell me that you are
engaged--to a Jew!" Madame Zamenoy had so far recovered herself that
she was now able to let her anger mount above her misery. "You wicked
girl! Why have you come to me with such a story as this?"

"Because it is well that you should know it. I did not like to deceive
you, even by secrecy. You will not be hurt. You need not notice me any
longer. I shall be lost to you, and that will be all."

"If you were to do such a thing you would disgrace us. But you will not
be allowed to do it."

"But I shall do it."

"Nina!"

"Yes, aunt. I shall do it. Do you think I will be false to my troth?"

"Your troth to a Jew is nothing. Father Jerome will tell you so."

"I shall not ask Father Jerome. Father Jerome, of course, will condemn
me; but I shall not ask him whether or not I am to keep my promise--my
solemn promise."

"And why not?"

Then Nina paused a moment before she answered. But she did answer, and
answered with that bold defiant air which at first had disconcerted her
aunt.

"I will ask no one, aunt Sophie, because I love Anton Trendellsohn, and
have told him that I love him."

"Pshaw!"

"I have nothing more to say, aunt. I thought it right to tell you, and
now I will go."

She had turned to the door, and had her hand upon the lock when her
aunt stopped her. "Wait a moment, Nina. You have had your say; now you
must hear me."

"I will hear you if you say nothing against him."

"I shall say what I please."

"Then I will not hear you." Nina again made for the door, but her aunt
intercepted her retreat. "Of course you can stop me, aunt, in that way
if you choose."

"You bold, bad girl!"

"You may say what you please about myself."

"You are a bold, bad girl!"

"Perhaps I am. Father Jerome says we are all bad. And as for boldness,
I have to be bold."

"You are bold and brazen. Marry a Jew! It is the worst thing a
Christian girl could do."

"No, it is not. There are things ten times worse than that."

"How you could dare to come and tell me!"

"I did dare, you see. If I had not told you, you would have called me
sly."

"You are sly."

"I am not sly. You tell me I am bad and bold and brazen."

"So you are."

"Very likely. I do not say I am not. But I am not sly. Now, will you
let me go, aunt Sophie?"

"Yes, you may go--you may go; but you may not come here again till