"Nice Nina, dear Nina, good Nina," said the girl, rubbing her glossy curls against her friend's cheeks. "Ah, dear, how I wish you lived here!" "But I have a father, as you have a grandfather, Ruth." "And he is a Christian." "And so am I, Ruth." "But you like us, and are good, and nice, and dear--and oh, Nina, you are so beautiful! I wish you were one of us, and lived here. There is Miriam Harter--her hair is as light as yours, and her eyes are as grey." "What has that to do with it?" "Only I am so dark, and most of us are dark here in Prague. Anton says that away in Palestine our girls are as fair as the girls in Saxony." "And does not Anton like girls to be dark?" "Anton likes fair hair--such as yours--and bright grey eyes such as you have got. I said they were green, and he pulled my ears. But now I look, Nina, I think they are green. And so bright! I can see my own in them, though it is so dark. That is what they call looking babies." "Go to your uncle, Ruth, and tell him that I want him--on business." "I will, and he'll come to you. He won't let me come down again, so kiss me, Nina; good-bye." Nina kissed the child again, and then was left alone in the room. It was a comfortable chamber, having in it sofas and arm-chairs--much more comfortable, Nina used to think, than her aunt's grand drawing-room in the Windberg-gasse, which was covered all over with a carpet, after the fashion of drawing-rooms in Paris; but the Jew's sitting-room was dark, with walls painted a gloomy green colour, and there was but one small lamp of oil upon the table. But yet Nina loved the room, and as she sat there waiting for her lover, she wished that it had been her lot to have been born a Jewess. Only, had that been so, her hair might perhaps have been black, and her eyes dark, and Anton would not have liked her. She put her hand up for a moment to her rich brown tresses, and felt them as she took joy in thinking that Anton Trendellsohn loved to look upon fair beauty.