an end of detached remarks; a subject of conversation had been found.
Itzig was one of the loudest, gesticulating on all sides. They spoke of
the funds--of wool--of the failure of a money-broker who had
over-speculated in paper. The ladies were forgotten; and, being quite
accustomed to it on such occasions, they solemnly held their tea-cups in
their hands, smoothed the folds of their dresses, and moved their
throats and arms so as to make their bracelets and chains sparkle in the
light.

The conversation was now interrupted by a strange sound: a door was
opened, and in the midst of profound silence a heavy arm-chair was
rolled into the room.

In the arm-chair sat an old, white-haired man, with a fat, swollen face,
with staring eyes, bent frame, and arms supinely hanging down. It was
Hirsch Ehrenthal, the imbecile. The chair being rolled into the midst of
the assembly, he looked slowly round, nodded, and repeated over and over
again the words he had been taught: "Good-evening--good evening." His
wife now bent over him, and, raising her voice, said in his ear, "Do you
know the company here assembled? They are our relatives."

"I know," nodded the figure; "it is a soiree. They all went to a great
soiree, and I remained alone in my room, and I sat on his bed. Where is
Bernhard, that he does not come to his old father?"

The guests who had surrounded the arm-chair now retreated in confusion;
and the lady of the house again screamed in the old man's ear, "Bernhard
is traveling, but your daughter Rosalie is here."

"Traveling?" mournfully inquired the old man. "How can he be traveling?
I wanted to buy him a horse, that he might ride it; I wanted to buy him
an estate, that he might live on it, like a respectable man, as he
always was. I know," he cried, "when I last saw him, he was in bed. He
lay on a bed, and he raised his clenched hand, and shook it at his
father."

"Come here, Rosalie," cried her mother, distressed at these
reminiscences. "When your father sees you, my child, he will have other
thoughts."

Rosalie approached, and, spreading out her handkerchief, knelt down
before the arm-chair. "Do you know me, father?" she cried.

"I know you," said the old man. "You are a woman. Why should a woman lie
on the earth? Give me my praying-cloak, and speak the prayer. I will
kneel in your place, for a long night has come upon us. When it is
past, we will kindle the lights, and will eat. It will be time to put on
gay ga