When the two men had reached the sitting-room in the Jew's house, and Ziska had seated himself, Anton Trendellsohn closed the door, and asked, not quite in anger, but with something of sternness in his voice, why he had been disturbed while engaged in an act of worship.
"They told me that you would not mind my going in to you," said Ziska, deprecating his wrath.
"That depends on your business. What is it that you have to say to me?"
"It is this. When you came to us the other day in the Ross Markt, we were hardly prepared for you. We did not expect you."
"Your mother could hardly have received me better had she expected me for a twelvemonth."
"You cannot be surprised that my mother should be vexed. Besides, you would not be angry with a lady for what she might say."
"I care but little what she says. But words, my friend, are things, and are often things of great moment. All that, however, matters very little. Why have you done us the honour of coming to our house?"
Even Ziska could perceive, though his powers of perception in such matters were perhaps not very great, that the Jew in the Jews' quarter, and the Jew in the Ross Markt, were very different persons. Ziska was now sitting while Anton Trendellsohn was standing over him. Ziska, when he remembered that Anton had not been seated in his father's office — had not been asked to sit down — would have risen himself, and have stood during the interview, but he did not know how to leave his seat. And when the Jew called him his friend, he felt that the Jew was getting the better of him — was already obtaining the ascendant. "Of course we wish to prevent this marriage," said Ziska, dashing at once at his subject.
"You cannot prevent it. The law allows it. If that is what you have to come to do, you may as well return."
"But listen to me, my friend," said Ziska, taking a leaf out of the Jew's book. "Only listen to me, and then I shall go."