He glanced at the money, put it in his money belt, and buckled it under his dress.
Lehman was waiting, and when Zaklika took his leave he came to him, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said,--
"Only God knows whether we shall see one another again. I pity you, but I cannot stop you from an honest deed. You have noticed my hesitation, but you must remember that I live for my children. Now, listen to me. I had in my possession a great deal of money belonging to the Countess, and in our hands money increases rapidly. Our account is closed; I have paid everything; but in the case of such misfortune a man should reckon differently; therefore, take this with you, and may God lead you."
He took a bag, and, handing it to Zaklika, said,--
"From this moment you do not know me. I do not know you either."
"It is for her," said Zaklika, shaking hands with him.
"Go through the garden," said the Israelite.
Zaklika was too well known in the city to show himself. He had left his horse in a suburb, at the house of his friend, a Wend. During his wanderings he had been struck by the similarity of the language to his own, as he listened to these Slavs talking. Speaking a similar language, he soon struck up acquaintances among them. The name of the fisherman with whom Zaklika became acquainted was Hawlik. He had a piece of land reaching to the bank of the river, but as the soil was not very good, Hawlik was not a farmer, but gained his living by fishing. Year in year out he lived his life in poverty and sorrow.
Zaklika often used to visit him, and they both chatted of their misery. The Wend remembered better times. "All around us used to belong to our people," said he, "but the Germans squeezed us out by different tricks, and now it is dangerous even to speak our own tongue. They do not give us any chance in the cities; it is enough to be a Wend to be pushed out. Our number decreases, but there is no help for it. It seems to be God's will."
Every time that Zaklika wanted not to be seen in Dresden he went to Hawlik, where he put up his horse and slept in the attic, and where he was always welcome to partake of the modest repast. They were glad to see him now also. They never asked him any questions--what was he doing or what had he come for.