“Well, I must see her; she can leave the Englishman now.”
Madam Marx laughed a little, but said nothing.
“There is Ahmed,” cried Gregorio, as a blue-clad figure passed on the other side of the street. He beckoned to the Arab, who came across at his summons.
“You seem troubled,” he said, as he looked into the Greek’s face; and Gregorio retold the terrible story.
“You know nothing of all this?” he added, suspiciously, as his narrative ended.
“Nothing.”
“My God! it is so awful I thought all the world knew of it. You often nursed and played with the boy?”
“Ay, and fed him. We Arabs love children, even Christian children, and I will help you if I can.”
“Why should Amos want the boy?” asked Madam Marx, as she put coffee and tobacco before the guests.
“Because I owe him money, and he knew the loss of my son would be the deadliest revenge. He will make my son a Jew, a beastly Jew. By God, he shall not, he shall not!”