the two discovered
that "the Count and the Lady" were a fiction, their love was not shaken; rather it grew stronger and took full possession of their hearts. And it appeared afterward that they were of one nature and had inclinations in common, chief among them commerce — to which they will devote themselves after the marriage, which is to take place soon.
I was listening to Miss Susan's talk with attention and amazement, and before I could open my mouth to make any comment she resumed her speech with even greater animation:
— On the occasion of Kalimi's marriage we shall give a family party at our house, and you are among the invited — on condition that you persuade your friend Gibran to attend the party; otherwise Leah will die of grief and sorrow. She is busy now with my mother, making some sweets and preparing them for the occasion. As for me, I intend after that to travel to China, for we may set up a shop in Paris in agreement with the London house. That, at least, is Esther's wish... How I wish you would listen to me, and we would travel together! The arts, believe me, put no bread on the table!
— And who told you, my friend, that my aim in life is the piling up of money? Gibran and I are preparing to travel soon to Istanbul, Athens, and Rome...
— How strange you are, the two of you! I cannot see what good can come of such a journey — except that it is a waste of time!
XXXX
Gibran said to me, when I passed on to him some of Miss Susan's talk about the invitation to the wedding:
The circle is a Jewish one, in which, as you know, I am not at my ease, and I fear we shall feel like strangers in it. Still, it is "only a night, O muleteer," and Leah deserves some sacrifice, and Madame Kalimi
speaks English. Very well. We shall go. Only there remains the present — is it proper that we go to the party swinging our empty hands?
I cut short Gibran's flow of talk and reassured him that our presence was a present... and more!
We were ten persons around the table, laden with everything savory and delicious, and after the eating and the drinking, the music and the family dancing, Susan made a sign, and silence fell.
She said:
— We shall close this party, ladies and gentlemen, with a competition for this prize.
And she gestured toward a red velvet box on the table, beside the seven-branched candlestick, saying:
— It goes to whoever tells the drollest story... and I shall draw, one after another, the names of three of those present. (And there were in the bag — or rather, in Susan's hand — only three names, according to my previous instructions to her!)
She drew first the name of a young Romanian, who told a story in the Romanian language that made those who understood it laugh; then she drew the name of "Leah," who at once told a Jewish story that made everyone laugh; then she drew the last slip and announced the name "Gibran"! The company turned toward him with craning necks and applauded him by way of encouragement. Gibran was flustered and looked at me with startled eyes, so I said to him in Arabic, encouragingly:
— The turn of your valiant grandfather has come. Did he not perform some heroic deed in his life? Surely among your grandfather's tales you have the drollest of stories!
And Madame Kalimi pressed him in English and urged him on. And when Gibran found himself facing an accomplished
fact, he gathered all his
