The count trembled inwardly, but recovering his self-possession, he asked, with a haughty smile: "Are we in the carnival, and do you represent the Israelitish god of love?"
"Yes, count," said the banker, "and his torch shall light you home, lest you stumble on your way, and fall into the pit of dishonor. Come and receive the ovation prepared for you."
So saying, Eskeles Flies opened the door, and the count looked out with dismay.
The long hall was lined on both sides with the liveried servants of the banker, each holding in his hand a wax-light, whose yellow flame flared to and fro, as the air from the open door below came in fitful puffs up the wide marble staircase.
"Come," said the banker, advancing with his flambeau. Podstadsky hesitated. If his sense of honor was dead, his vanity was not; and it winced at the slightest touch of ridicule. Was there no escape from this absurd escort? He looked around and saw no hope of rescue. Behind him Rachel had locked the door, and the servants were so closely ranged together that it was vain to attempt a passage through that living wall of fire. He had no alternative but to laugh derisively and step into the ranks. The procession moved on, and gathered strength as it moved; for on the staircase in the lower hall, and at the front of the house, they were joined by throng after throng, each man of which, like the commander-in-chief, was armed with a flambeau. This was bad enough of itself, but the count's body-guard were all in a titter, and every man enjoyed the jest except himself.
By this time they had reached the street, and what was the rage and mortification of the proud Austrian grandee, when he saw that curiosity had drawn thither a concourse of people, who kept up with the procession, wondering what on earth could be the meaning of it! [Footnote: This scene is historical. See "Letters of a French Traveller," vol. i., p. 405. Frieders "Letters from Vienna," vol. ii., p. 30.]
"See," cried one, "Herr Eskeles Flies has caught a marten in his hen-roost and is lighting him home."
"And the marten is the fine Count Podstadsky-Liechtenstein," cried another. "I know him. He rejoices in the title of 'woman-killer.' Only look how he sneaks along as the tribe of Israel are dogging him home!"
"The Israelites are escorting him home," jeered the multitude, and the procession moved on, never stopping until it reached the count's own hotel. Once there, Eskeles Flies, in a loud voice, bade him adieu, and requested to know whether he should accompany him farther.
"No," replied Count Podstadsky, trembling with passion, "and you shall answer to me for this outrage. We shall see whether the unbelieving Jew can mock the Christian with impunity!"