He walked toward the back of the shop and Neil followed him into a large, low room, where there was a table covered with a white cloth. Another white cloth, folded lengthwise, shielded the bread and the china laid ready for the noonday meal. Cohen stood at the entrance and permitted Neil to pass in. As he did so, a small, dark Jew rose and bringing forward a chair, said, "Welcome be the guest." "This is Mr. Belasco," said Cohen, and then Neil knew the woman who was standing behind Mr. Belasco's chair. It was the still beautiful Miriam. The happiness of perfect love lighted the dusky white of her complexion and filled her glorious eyes. A brilliant silk kerchief was thrown over her black hair, and she wore a rich, flowing garment of many colors. There were gems in her ears and around her neck, and her slim, brown fingers sparkled with sapphires and diamonds. Behind her was the whitewashed wall of a room on which was traced some black Hebrew characters--wise or comforting passages from the Psalms or the Prophets; and on shelves of ordinary wood, a quantity of beautiful china, some silver vessels, and a copper lamp with seven beaks, brightly polished. Before her sat Belasco, his swarthy face revealing both power and intellect, purposely veiled beneath a manner of almost obsequious deference. But his voice, like Cohen's, was full of those vague tones of softness and melody, of which Orientals preserve the eternal poetry, with the eternal secret. Outside, but within sight and hearing, was the vibrant, noisy, military life of New York--western turmoil--hurry of business--existence without pause; but here, in this grave, unornamented room, with its domestic simplicity and biblical air, was the very atmosphere of the East. Neil, who really possessed the heart and the imagination of a poet, felt the vibration of the far-off life, and even while addressing Mr. Belasco, had visions of palm-trees and of deserts and of long, long journeys with the caravans of camels, from oasis to oasis. He was standing amid the children of the patriarchs. These souls were of older race than himself; they had the noblest of kindreds, a country that was the mother of nations. With the ideal respect born of such thoughts he offered his hand to Mrs. Belasco. Then she called her children and proudly exhibited them to Neil, and in a few moments a slave brought in a dish of lamb stewed with rice and herbs, some dates, a plate of little cakes strewed with caraway seeds, and some strong coffee. A roll of bread was at each plate, and Cohen broke his with Neil. Miriam did not eat with them; she waited silently on their wants, her face beaming with pleasure and goodwill. And Neil felt as if he had suddenly passed through a little wooden door into the life of the far East.