to paralyse her
will. But the next instant she had recovered her presence of mind. With
quick, febrile movements she had already taken off her apron and with
her hands smoothed her unruly dark hair. Then she made for the door.

Less than a second and already he had guessed her purpose: before she
could reach the door he had his back against it and his nervy fingers
had grasped her wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," she said curtly.

"What for?"

"That's none of your business."

"What for?" he reiterated hoarsely.

"Let go my wrist," she exclaimed, "you are hurting me."

"I'll hurt you worse," he cried, in a broken voice, "if you cross this
threshold to-night."

But he released her wrist, and she, wrathful, indignant, terrified,
retreated to the other end of the room.

"Go out by the back door," he sneered, "if you want to go out. You have
the key, haven't you?"

"My father . . ." she began.

"Yes!" he said. "Go and tell your father that I, Leopold Hirsch, your
affianced husband, am browbeating you--making a scene, what?--because
you have made an assignation with my lord the young Count, here--at
night--under your father's roof--under the roof of a child of Israel!
You! An assignation with a dirty Christian! . . . Bah! Go and tell your
father that! And he will thrash you to within an inch of your life! We
are Jews, he and I, and hold the honour of our women sacred--more sacred
than their life!"

"Don't be a fool, Leopold," she cried, feeling that indeed, between her
father and this madman, her life had ceased to be safe. She looked round
her helplessly. Three or four besotted fools lying helpless across the
tables, and all the village dancing and making merry some two hundred
metres away, her father--implacable, as she well knew, where her conduct
was concerned--and this madman ready to kill to satisfy his lust of
vengeance and of hate--she felt that indeed, unless Heaven performed a
miracle, here was the beginning of an awful, an irredeemable tragedy.

"Leopold, don't be a fool," she reiterated, trying with all her might
not to appear frightened or scared or confused. "I have promised Kapus
Elsa to go to her dance for half an hour. I had forgotten all about it.
I must go now."

"Go and change your dress, then," he retorted with a sneer, "then you
can go out by the back way. You have put the key away somewhere, haven't
you? You know where it is."

"You are mad about doors to-night. I tell you I