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While making this speech, M. d'Asterac had turned into the lane of the mandrakes, where we could see Mosaide's cottage, half hidden by foliage, when suddenly an appalling voice burst upon us and made my heart beat faster hoarse sounds, accompanied by a sharp gnashing, and on getting nearer the sounds seemed to be modulated, and each phrase ended in a sort of very feeble melody, which could not be listened to without shuddering.
I freely avow that in passing through the mandrake lane, from whence Mosaide's cottage is to be seen, I hid behind an ivy-thorn bush, waiting for Jahel to appear at her window. Very soon she came. I showed myself, and beckoned her to come down. She came as soon as she was able to escape her uncle's vigilance. I gave her a brief report of the events of the night, of which she had not known.
Mosaide's tenderness does not leave me any liberty. He guards me jealously, and, besides six small gold cups he brought with him from Lisbon, he loves but me on earth. As he is much more attached to me than he was to my Aunt Myriam, he would kill you, dear, with a better heart than he killed the Portuguese.
We inquired the cause of the quarrel, but easily understood by the vagueness of his embarrassed replies that he did not intend to satisfy our curiosity. I surmised at once that Jahel was mixed up with it in some way, when I heard with the gnashing of Mosaide's voice the grating of locks and bolts, and later on the noise, in the lodge, of a violent dispute between uncle and niece.
I went down the stairs after her, saw her cross the lobby, go out by a little door opening on the fields in the direction where the park extends farthest, and run up the lane. I followed swiftly. I was quite sure that she would not go far, dressed as a pierrot and wearing a night-cap. She took the path wherein the mandrakes dwell. My curiosity doubled, and I followed her up to Mosaide's lodge.
Seeing me, Mosaide's eyes vomited fire. Out of his dirty yellow greatcoat he drew a neat little stiletto and shook it through the window with an arm in no way weighed down by age. He roared bilingual curses on me. Yes, Tournebroche, my grammatical knowledge authorises me to say that his curses were bilingual, that Spanish, or rather Portuguese, was mixed in them with Hebrew.
I shall never again dare to stand before M. d'Asterac, who believes me to have passed the night in the silent voluptuousness of magic, which perhaps would have been better for me. Alas! I'll never more see Mosaide's niece, Mademoiselle Jahel, who at night-time woke me in my room in such a charming way. No doubt she will forget me.
And I replied to him that, from his description of her, I was pretty sure that she was Rabbi Mosaide's niece Jahel, whom by a lucky accident I had embraced one night on that very same staircase, with this difference only, that my luck occurred between the first and second flights of steps.
"What, sir?" said I, with much warmth, "you have informed yonder Jew of the disgrace awaiting his family! That's nice of you! Allow me to embrace you. But, if so, Mosaide's wrath threatened M. d'Anquetil, and not yourself?"
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