things. Women are to blame
for everything; of course it was a woman again. A merchant from
Flanders--a Christian--had settled in Porto. The doctor's father visited
his house; but you probably know all this?"

"Of course! of course!" cried the magistrate. "But go on with your
story."

"Old Doctor Rodrigo was the Netherlander's physician, and closed his eyes
on the death-bed. An orphan was left, a girl, who had not a single
relative in Porto. They said--I mean the young doctors and students who
had seen her--that she was pleasing, very pleasing to the eye. But it was
not on that account, but because she was orphaned and desolate, that the
physician took the child--I mean the girl."

"And reared her as a Jewess?" interrupted the magistrate, with a
questioning glance.

"As a Jewess?" replied the monk, excitedly. "Who says so? He did nothing
of the sort. A Christian widow educated her in the physician's
country-house, not in the city. When the young doctor returned from
Coimbra, he saw her there more than once--more than once; certainly, more
often than was good for him. The devil had a finger in the matter. I
know, too, how they were married. Before one Jew and two Christian
witnesses, they plighted their troth to each other, and exchanged
rings--rings as if it were a Christian ceremony, though he remained a Jew
and she a Christian. He intended to go to the Netherlands with her, but
one of the witnesses betrayed them--denounced them to the Holy
Inquisition. This soon interposed of course, for there it interferes with
everything, and in this case it was necessary; nay more--a Christian
duty. The young wife was seized in the street with her attendant and
thrown into prison; on the rack she entirely lost the power of speech.
The old physician and the doctor were warned in time, and kept closely
concealed. Through Chamberlain de Sa, her uncle--or was it only her
cousin?--through de Sa the wife regained her liberty, and then I believe
all three fled to France--the father, son and wife. But no, they must
have come here. . . ."

"There you have it!" cried the magistrate, interrupting the monk, and
glancing triumphantly at the prelate. "An old practitioner scents crime,
as a tree frog smells rain. Now, for the first time, I can say with
certainty: We have him, and the worst punishment is too little for his
deserts. There shall be an unparalleled execution, something wonderful,
magnificent, grand! You have given me important