“He was frightened,” she said, “for he had been shut up for more than a month. She had tried to keep him in her bedroom, unknown to her father, feeding him with part of her own meals; but he had found it out, and had beaten her, and threatened to kill the dog if ever he saw it again.”
“Pobrecito!” (poor little thing) said the good Carlota—“we shall take good care of it. Toma” (take this), offering him a bit of meat. But he crept under her chair, with his tail so depressed, in his extreme bashfulness, that the point of it came out between his forelegs.
Carlota would have made the young Jewess dine there forthwith, at the side-table still spread with the remains of the dinner, for social differences of position were lost in the general misery; but she refused to take anything, only sipping once from a glass of wine that Carlota insisted on making her drink of. Then she rose, and, having tied the end of a string that was fastened to the dog’s collar to the leg of the table, to prevent his following her, took her leave, thanking Carlota very prettily.
“A Dios, Sancho!” she said to the little dog, who wagged his tail and gave her a piteous look as she turned to go away—“A Dios, Sancho,” she repeated, taking him up and kissing him very affectionately. The poor child was ready to cry.
“Come and see him every day, my child,” said Carlota, “and when better times come you shall have him again.”
CHAPTER II.
Lazaro the Jew was seated towards dusk that evening in a sort of office partitioned off by an open railing from a great store filled with a most motley collection of articles. Sofas, looking-glasses, washing-stands—bales of goods in corded canvass—rows of old boots purchased from officers’ servants—window curtains lying on heaps of carpeting and matting—bedsteads of wood and iron—crockery and glass—were all piled indiscriminately. Similar articles had also overflowed along the passage down the wooden steps leading to the square stone court below, which was lumbered with barrels, packing-cases, and pieces of old iron. This court was entered from the street, and an arched door on one side of it, barred and padlocked, opened on a large warehouse, which nobody except the Jew had set foot in for many months.
The Jew himself was a spare, rather small man, with a thin eager face, small sharp features, and a scanty beard. Being by descent a Barbary Jew, he wore the costume peculiar to that branch of his race—a black skull-cap; a long-skirted, collarless, cloth coat, buttoned close, the waist fastened with a belt; loose light-coloured trousers and yellow slippers—altogether he looked somewhat like an overgrown Blue-coat Boy. He was busied in turning over old parchment-covered ledgers, when an officer entered.
Von Dessel was a captain in Hardenberg’s Hanoverian regiment. He was a square, strong-built man, about forty, with very light hair, as was apparent since the governor’s order had forbidden the use of powder to the troops, in consequence of the scarcity of flour. His thick, white, overhanging eyebrows, close lips, and projecting under jaw, gave sternness to his countenance.
“Good afternoon, captain,” said the Jew; “what I do for you to-day, sare?”