d's waist, in a
childish endeavor to appease his wrath; "tell me why you have such an
animosity towards the Jews?"

The count impressively rolled up his sleeve and displayed a scar about
two inches in length upon his forearm.

"See, Louise," he said, gloomily; "that is some of their accursed work.
Have I not cause to detest them? They are spiteful, vengeful,
implacable."

Louise lovingly kissed the scarred arm.

"Poor Dimitri," she murmured; "how it must have pained. Tell me how it
happened."

"There is no need to go into details," answered the Count, abruptly.
"But if ever I acquire the power, I shall make a Jew smart for every
drop of blood that flowed from the wound. Come, supper must be ready.
We will not spoil our appetites by speaking of the despicable race."

Count Drentell wisely refrained from telling his wife the cause of his
scar. It was not for a wife's ear to hear the tale. Eight years before,
he, with a number of young officers of the army stationed at Pinsk,
while in search of a little pleasurable excitement, had raided the
Jewish quarter and terrorized the helpless inhabitants. After having
broken every window, the party, inflamed by wine and enthusiasm, entered
the house of Haim Kusel, demolished the furniture, helped themselves to
articles of value that chanced to be exposed, and having caught a
glimpse of Haim's pretty daughter, Drentell, the leader of the band,
attempted to embrace her. The Jew, who had offered no resistance while
his hard-earned possessions were being destroyed, was driven to frenzy
by the insult to his daughter. Seizing a knife he drove the party from
the house, but not until he had wounded several of the wretches, among
whom was Drentell. Kusel had saved his daughter's honor, but he well
knew that he had forfeited his life if he remained in the village.
Packing up the few household articles that yet remained, he and his
daughter fled from Pinsk to find protection with friends in a distant
town.

At midnight, the officers, now reinforced by a number of sympathizing
comrades, returned, and furious at the escape of their victim, burned
his dwelling to the ground. Drentell never forgot his ignominious
repulse nor the wound he received at the hands of Haim Kusel. His own
offence counted as naught, so blunted was his moral sense. To inflict
misery upon a Jew was at all times considered meritorious, but for a
Jew to so far forget himself as to assault an officer of the Czar, was