met Beautiful Sara more than once, but every time had
seemed to be repelled by her commanding look, or else by the enigmatical
smile of her husband. Finally, however, proudly conquering all
diffidence, he boldly faced both, and with foppish confidence made, in a
tenderly gallant tone, the following speech: "Senora!--list to me!--I
swear--by the roses of both the kingdoms of Castile, by the Aragonese
hyacinths and the pomegranate blossoms of Andalusia! by the sun which
illumines all Spain, with its flowers, onions, pea-soups, forests,
mountains, mules, he-goats, and Old Christians! by the canopy of heaven,
on which this sun is merely a golden tassel! and by the God who abides
in heaven and meditates day and night over the creation of new forms of
lovely women!--I swear that you, Senora, are the fairest dame whom I
have seen in all the German realm, and if you please to accept my
service, then I pray of you the favor, grace, and leave to call myself
your knight and bear your colors henceforth in jest or earnest!"

A flush of pain rose in the face of Beautiful Sara, and with one of
those glances which cut the deeper when they come from gentle eyes, and
with a tone such as is bitterest coming from a beautiful voice, the lady
answered, as one deeply hurt:

"My noble lord, if you will be my knight you must fight whole races, and
in the battle there will be little thanks to win and less honor; and if
you will wear my colors, then you must sew yellow rings on your cloak,
or bind yourself with a blue-striped scarf, for such are my colors--the
colors of my house, the House of Israel, which is wretched indeed, one
mocked in the streets by the sons of fortune."

A sudden purple red shot into the cheeks of the Spaniard; an
inexpressible confusion seemed to have seized him as he stammered--

"Senora, you misunderstood me--an innocent jest--but, by God, no
mockery, no scorn of Israel. I myself am sprung from that house; my
grandfather was a Jew, perhaps even my father."

"And it is very certain, Senor, that your uncle is one," suddenly
exclaimed the Rabbi, who had calmly witnessed this scene; and with a
merry, quizzical glance, he added, "And I myself will vouch that Don
Isaac Abarbanel, nephew of the great Rabbi, is sprung from the best
blood of Israel, if not from the royal race of David!"

The chain of the sword rattled under the Spaniard's cloak, his cheeks
became deadly white, his upper lip twitched as with scorn in which t