“I am an old friend, my little child. Hast thou ever heard the name of Countess?”
“Yes,” murmured the child feebly. He could not remember yet how or where he had heard it; he only knew that it was not strange to him.
“That is well. Glory be to the Blessed that I have found thee in time to save thee!”
They were speeding back now into the lighted town—not lighted, indeed, by out-door lamps, but by many an open door and uncovered window, and the lanterns of passengers going up or down the street. Countess carried the child to a stone house—only Jews built stone houses in towns at that day—and into a ground-floor room, where she laid him down on a white couch beside the fire. There were two men in the room—both old, and with long white beards.
“Countess! what hast thou there?” sternly asked one of the men.
“Father Jacob!—a babe of the Goyim!” exclaimed the other.
“Hush!” said Countess in a whisper, as she bent over the boy. “The life is barely in him. May the Blessed (to whom be praise!) help me to save my darling!”
“Accursed are all the infidels!” said the man who seemed slightly the younger of the two. “Daughter, how earnest thou by such a child, and how darest thou give him such a name?”
Countess made no answer. She was busy feeding little Rudolph with bits of bread sopped in warm broth.
“Where am I?” asked the child, as sense and a degree of strength returned to him. “It isn’t Isel’s house.”