"It seems that there is a very old law which forbids the Jews to enter Moscow. It is no doubt a relic of former despotism, you know, of John the Terrible. Even in England there are many obsolete laws unrepealed even to this day. It may be that the Jew was trying to mislead me; anyhow, for some reason or other he was not allowed to enter Moscow, the ancient city of the Tsars, of sacred things."
"But here in Rome the Mayor is a Jew—in Rome, which is more ancient and more sacred than Moscow," said the youth, smiling.
"And he gives the Pope some very shrewd knocks—the little tailor. Let us wish him success in that," put in the old man in spectacles, clapping his hands.
"What is the old man saying?" asked the lady.
"Just a minute! Some nonsense. They speak the Neapolitan dialect."
"This Jew went to Moscow, however—they must have blood—and there he goes to the house of a prostitute. It was the only place he could go to, so he said."
"A fairy tale!" said the old man decisively; and he waved his arm as if brushing the tale aside.
"To tell you the truth, I am of the same opinion."
"Of course, it's a fable!"
"And what was the sequel?" asked the youth.