«You're thinking that it won't be so hot for Mara, that's it, eh?»»

«I can't say yet,» he said, with alarming seriousness. «I see only this, that you've both met your match.»

«So you think I'd really be worthy of him?» said Mara very humbly.

I looked at her in amazement. I never suspected that she could say a thing like that to a stranger.

Her words fired Kronski. «Worthy of him?» he sneered. «Is he worthy of you? that's the question. What has he ever done to make a woman feel worthy of him? He hasn't begun to function yet—he's in a torpor. If I were you I wouldn't put an ounce of faith in him. He isn't even a good friend, let alone a lover or a husband. Poor Mara, don't worry your head about such things. Make him do something for you, spur him on, drive him nuts if you have to, but make him open up! If I were to give you an honest piece of advice, knowing him and loving him as I do, it would be this: lacerate him, punish him, goad him to the last ditch! Otherwise you're lost—he'll devour you. Not that he's a bad sort, not because he means harm... oh no! he does it out of kindness. He almost makes you believe that he has your own interest at heart when he sinks his hooks into you. He can tear you apart with a smile and tell you that he's doing it for your own good. He's the diabolical one, not me. I pretend, but he means everything he does. He's the cruelest bastard that ever walked on two legs—and what's queer about it is this, that you love him because he is cruel, or perhaps because he's honest about it. He warns you in advance when he's going to strike. He tells you it smilingly. And when it's over he picks you up and brushes you off tenderly, asks you did he hurt you very much and so on—like an angel. The bastard /» «Of course I don't know him as well as you do,» said Mara quietly, «but I must confess he's never revealed that side of his nature to me—not yet, at any rate. I only know him to be gentle and good. I hope to act so that he'll always be that way with me. I not only love him, I believe in him as a person. I would sacrifice everything to make him happy....»

«But you're not very happy right now, are you?» said Kronski, as though ignoring her words. «Tell me, what has he done to make you—?»

«He hasn't done anything,» she said spiritedly. «He doesn't know what's bothering me.»

«Well, can you tell me?» said Kronski, altering his voice and moistening his eyes so that he resembled a piteous, friendly little whelp.

«Don't press her,» I said, «she'll tell us in due time.» I was looking at Kronski as I spoke. His expression suddenly changed. He turned his head away. I looked at Mara and there were tears in her eyes; they began to flow copiously. In a moment she excused herself and went to the washroom. Kronski looked at me with a wan dead smile, the look of the sick clam expiring in moonlight.

«Don't take it so tragically,» I said. «She's a brave sort, she'll pull out of it.»

«That's what you say! You don't suffer. You get emotional and you call it suffering. That girl's in trouble, can't you see? She wants you to do something for her—not just wait till it passes. If you don't pump her I will. This time you've got a real woman. And a real woman, Mister Miller, expects something of a man—not just words and gestures. If she wants you to run away with her, to leave your wife, your child, your job, I'd say do it. Listen to her and not to your own selfish promptings!» He slumped back in his seat and picked his teeth. After a pause—-«And you met her in a dance hall? Well, I must congratulate you for having the sense to recognize the genuine article. That girl can make something of you, if you'll let her. If it's not too late, I mean. You're pretty far gone, you know. Another year with that wife of yours and you're finished.» He spat on the floor in disgust. «You have luck. You get things without working for them. I work like a son of a bitch and the moment I turn my back everything crumbles.»

«That's because I'm a Goy,» I said jestingly.

«You're no Goy. You're a black Jew. You're one of those fascinating Gentiles that every Jew wants to shine up to. You're.... Oh, good you mentioned that. Mara is a Jewess, of course? Come now, don't pretend you don't know. Hasn't she told you yet?»

That Mara should be a Jewess sounded so highly preposterous I simply laughed in his face.

«You want me to prove it to you, is that it?»

«I don't care what she is,» I said, «but I'm sure she's not Jewish.»

«What is she then? You don't call that a pure Aryan, I hope?»

«I never asked her,» I replied. «You ask her if you like.»

«I won't ask her,» said Kronski, «because she might lie to me in front of you—but I'll tell you whether I'm right or not the next time I see you. I guess I can tell a Jew when I see one.»

«You thought I was a Jew you first met me.» He laughed outright at this. «So you really believed that? Haw haw! Well, that's pretty good. You poor sap, I told you that just to flatter you. If you had a drop of Jewish blood in you I'd lynch you, out of respect for my people. You a Jew?... Well, well....» He rolled his head from side to side with tears in his eyes. «First of all a Jew is smart,» he began again, «and you, you're certainly not smart. And a Jew is honest—get that! Are you honest? Have you got an ounce of truth in you? And a Jew feels. A Jew is always humble, even when he's arrogant.... Here comes Mara now. Let's drop the subject.»

«You were talking about me, weren't you?» said Mara, as she sat down. «Why don't you go on? I don't mind.»

«You're wrong,» said Kronski, «we weren't talking about you at all...»

«He's a liar,» I broke in. «We were talking about you, only we didn't get very far. I wish, Mara, you'd tell him about your family—the things you told me, I mean.»

Her face clouded up. «Why should you be concerned about my family?» she said, with an ill-disguised show of irritation. «My family is thoroughly uninteresting.»

«I don't believe it,» said Kronski blankly. «I think you're concealing something.»

The look that passed between them gave me a jolt. It was as if she had given him the signal to proceed cautiously. They understood one another in some subterranean fashion, in a way which excluded me. The image of the woman in the backyard of her home came vividly to my mind. That woman was no neighbor, as she had tried to insinuate. Could it have been her step-mother? I tried to recall what she had told me about her real mother but immediately became lost in the complicated maze she had woven about this obviously painful subject.

«What is it you'd like to know about my family?» she said, turning to me.

«I don't want to ask you anything that would make you uncomfortable,» I said, «but if it isn't indiscreet would you mind telling us about your step-mother?»

«Where did your step-mother come from?» asked Kronski.

«From Vienna,» said Mara. «And you, were you born in Vienna too?»

«No, I was born in Roumania, in a little mountain village. I may have some Gypsy blood in me.»

«You mean your mother was a Gypsy?»

«Yes, there's a story to that effect. My father is said to have run away with her on the eve of his marriage to my step-mother. That's why my mother hates me, I guess. I'm the black sheep of the family.»

«And you adore your father, I suppose?»

«I worship him. He's like me. The others are strangers to me—we haven't anything in common.»

«And you support the family, is that it?» said Kronski.

«Who told you that? I see, so that's what you were talking about when...»

«No, Mara, nobody told me. I can see it in your face. You're making a sacrifice of yourself—that's why you're unhappy.»

«I won't deny it,» she said. «It's for my father I'm doing it. He's an invalid, he can't work any more.»