Nina Balatka | Page 8

to her aunt's ears. Not that Souchey would be untrue to her on
behalf of Madame Zamenoy, whom he hated; but that he would think
himself bound by his religious duty--he who never went near priest or
mass himself--to save his mistress from the perils of the Jew. The story
of her love must be told, and Nina preferred to tell it herself to having it
told for her by her servant Souchey. She must see Anton. When the
evening therefore had come, and there was sufficient dusk upon the
bridge to allow of her passing over without observation, she put her old
cloak upon her shoulders, with the hood drawn over her head, and,
crossing the river, turned to the left and made her way through the
narrow crooked streets which led to the Jews' quarter. She knew the
path well, and could have found it with blindfolded eyes. In the middle
of that close and densely populated region of Prague stands the old
Jewish synagogue--the oldest place of worship belonging to the Jews in
Europe, as they delight to tell you; and in a pinched-up, high-gabled
house immediately behind the synagogue, at the corner of two streets,
each so narrow as hardly to admit a vehicle, dwelt the Trendellsohns.
On the basement floor there had once been a shop. There was no shop
now, for the Trendellsohns were rich, and no longer dealt in retail
matters; but there had been no care, or perhaps no ambition, at work, to
alter the appearance of their residence, and the old shutters were upon
the window, making the house look as though it were deserted. There
was a high-pitched sharp roof over the gable, which, as the building
stood alone fronting upon the synagogue, made it so remarkable, that
all who knew Prague well, knew the house in which the Trendellsohns
lived. Nina had often wished, as in latter days she had entered it, that it
was less remarkable, so that she might have gone in and out with
smaller risk of observation. It was now the beginning of September,
and the clocks of the town had just struck eight as Nina put her hand on
the lock of the Jew's door. As usual it was not bolted, and she was able
to enter without waiting in the street for a servant to come to her. She
went at once along the narrow passage and up the gloomy wooden

stairs, at the foot of which there hung a small lamp, giving just light
enough to expel the actual blackness of night. On the first landing Nina
knocked at a door, and was desired to enter by a soft female voice. The
only occupant of the room when she entered was a dark-haired child,
some twelve years old perhaps, but small in stature and delicate, and, as
appeared to the eye, almost wan. "Well, Ruth dear," said Nina, "is
Anton at home this evening?"
"He is up-stairs with grandfather, Nina. Shall I tell him?"
"If you will, dear," said Nina, stooping down and kissing her.
"Nice Nina, dear Nina, good Nina," said the girl, rubbing her glossy
curls against her friend's cheeks. "Ah, dear, how I wish you lived here!"
"But I have a father, as you have a grandfather, Ruth."
"And he is a Christian."
"And so am I, Ruth."
"But you like us, and are good, and nice, and dear--and oh, Nina, you
are so beautiful! I wish you were one of us, and lived here. There is
Miriam Harter--her hair is as light as yours, and her eyes are as grey."
"What has that to do with it?"
"Only I am so dark, and most of us are dark here in Prague. Anton says
that away in Palestine our girls are as fair as the girls in Saxony."
"And does not Anton like girls to be dark?"
"Anton likes fair hair--such as yours--and bright grey eyes such as you
have got. I said they were green, and he pulled my ears. But now I look,
Nina, I think they are green. And so bright! I can see my own in them,
though it is so dark. That is what they call looking babies."
"Go to your uncle, Ruth, and tell him that I want him--on business."

"I will, and he'll come to you. He won't let me come down again, so
kiss me, Nina; good-bye."
Nina kissed the child again, and then was left alone in the room. It was
a comfortable chamber, having in it sofas and arm-chairs--much more
comfortable, Nina used to think, than her aunt's grand drawing-room in
the Windberg-gasse, which was covered all over with a carpet, after the
fashion of drawing-rooms in Paris; but the Jew's sitting-room was dark,
with walls painted a gloomy green colour,