Their respect went so far as to make them (at the mayor's instigation) set apart two pieces of ground, one for a (future) synagogue, and one for a Jewish burial-ground (for the one Jewess they had in the town). But what did that matter? They had the future before them, and who could tell what it held for them? And it was so nice to be able to say to strangers: "Just a stone's throw from the Jewish burial-ground," or "near to the foundation of the Synagogue," etc. And the inhabitants of the villages round about would say when the good folks turned their backs: "Poor things! Their brains have been turned with the joy of having a Jew in their town!"
CHAPTER III.
THE TRACES LEAD TO GLOGOVA.
One fine spring afternoon, a light sort of dog-cart stopped before Mrs. Müncz's shop, and a young man sprang out of it, Gyuri Wibra, of course.
Rosália, who was just standing at her door, speaking to Mr. Mravucsán, the mayor, and Mr. Galba, one of the senators, immediately turned to the young man with the question:
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"Are you Mrs. Müncz?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want to buy an umbrella."
The two gentlemen, surprised, looked up at the cloudless sky.