"Well!... I couldn't say.... The husband seemed to me a somewhat colorless person.... He is an engineer and specializes in mining affairs, I believe.... The woman is pretty, smart and pleasant.... Besides, as I told you, I hardly know them." Cyprien was not eating. He bit his mustache; then suddenly he burst out, as if a spring had been released: "They are Jews, are they not?" "I am not sure!" Schleifmann replied. "The husband comes from the Berri, where Jews have not, as a rule, colonized very much.... His wife appears rather of the Semitic type ... but so refined, so very mixed, that I dare not affirm...." "Yet, their name!" Cyprien insisted. "Their name!" the Galician replied, feeling his philologist's pride provoked. "Actually, there is nothing to prevent it from being a Frenchified Jewish name.... Chambannes might well be derived from Rhâm-Bâhal, or from the corrupted Rhâm-Bâhan, which means, if my recollections are correct, something like _high-idol_, a _lofty idol_...." "Rhâm-Bâhan!" Uncle Cyprien repeated complacently.... "Rhâm-Bâhan!... Of course ... that's what it is.... I thought to myself...." The admissions made by Schleifmann had whetted his appetite and, his mouth full of food, he insinuated: "It seems to me you spoke a little while ago of a list of guests who would be there...." "Yes, yes," Schleifmann said evasively. "Well, who are they?" Cyprien insisted. The Galician shifted uneasily. "I have not a very clear recollection of them.... I assure you.... I have forgotten." "I don't believe it, Schleifmann! Try to remember; there is no hurry." The temptation proved too strong for his friend. He could not miss such an occasion to air his rancor; he could not refrain from flaying the whole dubious clique of men who had in the past refused him a hearing. He began to feel that he lacked the strength to resist his inclination. He began, mildly at first, a few points at a time, throwing his venom upon those he hated least. "Very well," he said. "Let's see!... To-night there will be M. Givonne, an artist who paints fans and dancing tambourines for society balls and sells anything he likes to the Americans.... Hm!... M. Mazuccio, a little Italian sculptor who spends his time telling how the women whose busts he has made are fashioned below the waist...." "A pretty lot!" Cyprien encouraged him.