"Ten o'clock. Whom art thou looking for through the window?"
"The widow."
"The widow? Who is she?"
"I fear that she is sick."
"Is she thy acquaintance?"
"Evidently. If I did not know her I should not be occupied with her."
"Well, that is clear," answered Yosef. "Let us go in."
He raised the door-latch; they entered.
A smoky, hot atmosphere surrounded them. At some distance in the hall faces of various ages were visible. Amid clouds of smoke, which dimmed the light of the wall lamps, and outbursts of laughter, wandered the tones of a piano, as if wearied and indifferent. The piano was accompanied by a guitar, on which thrummed at intervals a tall, slender youth, with hair cut close to his skull and with scars on his face. He played with long fingers on the strings carelessly, fixed his great blue eyes on the ceiling, and was lost in meditation.
The person sitting at the piano had barely grown out of childhood. He had a milk-white complexion, dark hair combed toward the back of his head, sweetness on his red lips, and melancholy in his eyes. He was delicate, of a
