"The truth of your calculation may be proved, perhaps; its cruelty is unsurpa.s.sed. With what indifference you discount the misfortunes of those who form the basis of your argument!" said Jacob.

"What else can I do? Can I prevent this uprising? Ought we not to profit by circ.u.mstances? Believe me, the Jews hold to-day in their hand the future of Poland. Yesterday despised, soon we shall be the masters!

Look at the n.o.bility! What is it? A band without strength, who guard their pride of birth, their arrogance, their corruptions, their eccentricities, and foolish indifference; they have all the faults of their ancestors, and none of their virtues. It is a caste surely fated to die. Such a caste cannot exist now-a-days. And if society still demands a sort of modified aristocracy, who will replace the n.o.bles?

Who but we?"

"You know that I am a Jew, heart and soul," said Jacob; "but I pity Poland if your prophecy is accomplished."

"And why?"

"Because we are not ready for the role you lay out for us. We have not deserved, by our conduct, to be the arbiters of this country. And to tell the whole truth, our community is more corrupt than the n.o.bles; it is already worm-eaten."

"Not so bad as they, though."

"Our malady is different from theirs, but it is as dangerous."

"Oh, no! Because we know how to acquire and preserve this wealth, while the n.o.bles do not know anything of business, nor how to manage their vast estates economically. The strength of money, the strength of capital, is the only real power in this century."

"An opportunity, as you have remarked," said Jacob, "is presented to the Jews of Poland to play an important role; as important as the one they already hold in Germany. Will they understand their advantageous position? Will they be worthy of it? Two questions to which G.o.d alone can reply."

Segel burst out laughing.

"You are a pious Jew," cried he. "In everything you mix the idea of G.o.d. These old superst.i.tions are completely worn out."

"And that is precisely what afflicts me. We have torn our belief to tatters, but under them is gold."

"What use of speaking of the _debris_ of a past which will never return? There is my house; it cost more than a half million. I will do the honours, and we will go afterward to find Mathilde."

He looked at his watch.

"_Saperlotte!_ I am expected at the Bourse in half an hour; but I have still time to stay a few moments with you; then you can await me with Mathilde. I will despatch my business at a gallop."

The mansion was s.p.a.cious and elegant, but with a vulgar display of wealth. No taste, refinement, or sentiment for art. It was built on one of those plans which serve at the same time for private houses or hotels. Superb mirrors with gilded frames, furniture covered with velvet hangings of great price, wonderful inlaid floors, rare bronzes, crystal chandeliers, porcelain from China and j.a.pan, costly bric-a-brac, and a general tone of vulgar display; such was the dwelling, where, in the least details, one could see that the proprietor had everywhere sought to dazzle his guests, and confound taste with costliness.

During the inspection he several times spoke thus:--

"This _bibelot_ cost me a hundred ducats; this vase is worth a thousand roubles."

The ostentatious mansion was worthy of a dethroned king or of a prince _in partibus_. The general air of the house, nevertheless, was that of solitude and _ennui_. The rooms seemed uninhabited. In spite of their proportions, there was something wanting. Nothing seemed homelike or cheerful.

Segel even conducted Jacob to the pretentious kitchen, provided with a constant flow of running water. There was a tank filled with fish, and many other inventions more or less ingenious.

As soon as his host had left him to go and inform his wife, Jacob threw himself on a couch; he was overpowered with fatigue and disgusted with all this show, and pitied Mathilde more than ever.

Madame Segel soon entered slowly; she was very pale, and was almost unable to walk alone. She saluted her friend with a sweet smile tinged with melancholy. In her sunken eyes burned a strange fire.

"Welcome home from Italy, monsieur," said she, holding out her hand. "I longed to return home; but what matters it, here or there, it is all the same."

"No doubt life, regarded in all its gravity, is full of sadness everywhere," said Jacob.

"Why the devil do you regard it thus?" cried Henri, offering Jacob a little gla.s.s of brandy. "I almost forgot the Bourse. I have hardly time to swallow anything. Dear Mathilde, be good enough to keep our guest until my return. I confide him to you; do not let him escape. I will be absent only a quarter of an hour."

He rang.

"Are the horses ready?" asked he of the servant.

"Yes, monsieur."

"That is good. _Au revoir_. Without further excuse I leave you with my wife," said he, kissing his wife's hand. "If you are at loss for conversation, she can play the piano or sing something. You will find the daily papers on the table. Very poor reading, I a.s.sure you, but, for want of something better"--

When he had gone they remained silent for some time, not daring to look at each other. At last Mathilde sighed, and held out her hand to him, murmuring:--

"Jacob, we are old and good friends, and nothing more, are we not?"

"Madame," replied he respectfully, "time has not changed me, and the confidence you have in me will not be betrayed."

"When we seek to keep apart," said Mathilde, "fate reunites us. It is a temptation. Let us remain worthy of ourselves and worthy of our past, so pure. I cannot understand Henri. Ordinarily he is so jealous. He does not like to leave me alone with men. And to-day he has acted so differently. Is it confidence or indifference? I will ask him."

"What matters it? Tell me how you are, and why you left Italy so soon?"

"Because there is suffering everywhere, death everywhere. Since my marriage I am stricken at the heart. I must suffer, here or there. I am always suffering."

"And your health?"

"The soul alone is ill. But speak of yourself."

"I--I have neither the time nor the right to suffer. Man lives not by sentiment, but by action. It is this which renders us at the same time more miserable and more happy. In the struggle for existence, when we receive a wound, we have no right to think of it, and we must continue the combat. Even you, madame, why not seek a remedy for your sorrow?--an occupation, some aim in life."

"Occupations, my dear Jacob, are very limited for a woman without children. Without them, what object in life has a woman? Do you think that to sew and embroider can tranquillize a soul?"

"Reading, music, and poetry are inexhaustible sources of enjoyment.

Believe me, madame, days well employed are not followed by satiety, regret, nor remorse. Those who have not the creative genius can a.s.similate immortal creations. It is a voluptuous life that draws away from the cares of existence."

"Alas! to follow your advice it had been necessary to be initiated to this manner of living, and to be accustomed to it."

"You can form the habit."

"I have already, thank Heaven, an occupation in music. It soothes me, absorbs me, and pa.s.ses the time. But music occupies only a little corner in my heart, and cannot fill it entirely."

"Reading, then."

"Reading unveils to us too much the secrets of life. I speak of romances, the drama, and poetry."

"In that case seek, and you will find, some more serious occupation."

"I will try. But enough of this. Speak to me, Jacob, of yourself. For what have you returned? What are you going to do?"

"I return, heart and soul full of ideas, and more an Israelite than ever. I bring back projects of reform, of labour, and of sacrifice for my people. My views are almost presumptuous. I dream of being a Bar Mamonides. There is so much to do for our poor race."

"Do you believe it? Do you think that you can unite these scattered people?"