“This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all those who are hungry enter and eat thereof; and all who are in distress come and celebrate the Passover.” And the youngest-born must arise and open the door so that the Stranger may enter and take his place at the table, and, even though he slew one of their kin, that night he is a sacred guest. And—as you have no doubt already opined—hardly had Miriam opened the door when, with pale face, but with lips that were pressed in grim determination, in walked Lazarus. Now, to this day I do not know whether Miriam expected him, or what her feelings were when he entered. She has refused to tell me. It needed but one glance to assure me that if there was any secret Rosnofsky had not been in it. With a cry of rage he sprang to his feet, and I feared that he would hurl a knife at the intruder. But an instant later he recovered himself, and with a gurgling, choking sound sank into his chair. “The grace of God be with you all,” saluted Lazarus, still very pale. Then, “Am I a welcome guest?” Rosnofsky seemed to be on the point of exploding with rage, but at this question he started as if he had been struck. After a moment’s silence he arose with great dignity—and holding out his hand—the strength of his piety never more forcibly illustrated—said: “Forgive my anger, my son. You are welcome to the Feast of the Passover.” And resuming his seat he chanted: “Blessed art Thou, O Eternal, our God, King of the Universe, Creator of the fruit of wine!” It was the beginning of the service. Lazarus, with his eyes upon the table, chanted the responses, and I, who knew nothing of the ritual, looked at Miriam, who, I assure you, was delightful to behold, particularly when her eyes twinkled as they did now. By the time he had finished the Sader, Rosnofsky’s troubled spirit had become soothed, and the final grace was delivered in a voice so calm and with a manner so soothing, that when he looked up Lazarus was emboldened to speak. “You are angry with me, Father Rosnofsky,” he ventured. “Let us not speak of unpleasant things this night,” replied the tailor, gently. “This is a holy night.” Lazarus, in no way abashed, deftly led the old man to expound some of the intricate sayings of the rabbis upon the Passover, which Rosnofsky, who was something of a theologian, did with great eagerness. Now, how it came about I cannot tell, but Lazarus was so greatly interested in this discussion, and Rosnofsky was so determined to prove that the old rabbis were all in the wrong on this one point, that when the meal was over he declared that if Lazarus would call the next night he would have a book that would convince him. Lazarus had the discretion to take his departure. When he had gone Rosnofsky puffed his pipe in silence for some moments. Then, with a quaint smile, he turned to me and said: “The young rogue!” And then he gazed at Miriam until she grew red.