Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/165

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you'll do is give the neighbors something to talk about, and bring disgrace upon yourself. The thing to do"-she thundered at her husband-"is to keep quiet about it, smooth things over. If it isn't this match, then, with God's help, it'll be another."

Suddenly, she heard Yurek's footsteps in the corridor and at once fell silent.

"Good evening, my son," she forced herself to say calmly when he came in. "Sit down. Supper'll soon be ready."

Her husband also regained his poise. He had a great deal of respect for his well-employed son, who contributed substantially to the family's upkeep. Ashamed, he put down the holding in his hand, straightened the skull cap on his head, and ran his fingers through his dishevelled beard. He looked toward his son with a half guilty expression.

"Yes, that's the way it is, my son," he said, shaking his rust-colored head. "Daughters are like untamed animals. You have to master them or they'll master you."

Without tasting his Sabbath dinner, he rushed off to the synagogue, to pray for divine pardon. "O God," he prayed aloud before the Holy Ark, "do not strike at me through my children. Put them on the path of virtue, and purify them in the waters of holy marriage. O my God, have mercy, save my daughter, save us all.."

His guilt almost beat him to his knees, but like a pious Jew, he faced the Lord erect, praying on his feet, as all proud men do.