Then there came back to him the face of the Englishman he had seen talking to the violinist of the Paradiso.  He hated the man because he was ugly and rich.  These English were all rich, and yet they seemed to him a miserable race, mere ignorant bullies.  He remembered how often he had come to the help of the English travellers who filled Egypt.  Why had he, he asked himself, for the sake of a miserable reward, prevented them being cheated, when he, with all his talents, was condemned to starve?  Even his child, he thought, would grow to hate him if he remained poor.  He must get money.  Amos would have to lend him some.  The Jews were unpopular among the Greeks; it were wise to keep on good terms with them, as Amos would find out.

At last he fell asleep.

In the morning his troubles began again.  There was no coffee, and only a little Arab bread, and when that was done they must starve if they could not get some money.  Gregorio tore off a bit of bread and ate it slowly, looking at his wife, who sat weeping beside him.

“I shall go to Amos,” he said, firmly.

“Ah, yes, to Amos,” Xantippe answered quietly; “but it will be no good.”

“Why no good?”

“Because you owe him money, and he will give you no more till he is paid.”

“But we cannot pay him.  He must let us have some.  If not—­” and Gregorio raised threatening.

His wife smiled sadly and kissed him.

“You will not frighten Amos, my love.  When I told him the child had been ill, he only laughed.”

“When was that?”

“Yesterday.”

“Then he had been here?”

“He came last night to ask for his money.  I told him we had none, and he laughed and said we must get some.  He told me I might get some if I cared to.  He said I could make, oh, so much!”

Gregorio scowled savagely.  “The filthy Jew! he said that?  Never, never, never!”

“But we must get some money,” the woman sobbed, “if only for our son’s sake, Gregorio.  But not that way?”

“No, not that way,” he replied, savagely.

“When shall you go to him?”

“Now.”

And taking up his hat he rushed into the street.  He was terribly angry, not so much at the purport of the Jew’s speech as at the man who made it.  He loathed the Jews, and felt insulted when spoken to by one; it was a terrible matter to ask this man for help, but it was intolerable that his wife should suffer insult.  And yet the child must be fed.  Yes, she had said that, and it was true.  They must make sacrifices for the child.

He soon reached the Jew’s house, and was shown by a richly clad servant into the room where Amos sat.  Amos was an old man, tall and strong, with a long bushy beard, in which his fingers continually played; and his eyes were sharp and brilliant and restless, a strange contrast to his stately bearing and measured movements.  He rose from his cushions as Gregorio entered, and saluted him courteously, motioning him to a seat.  Then, having resettled himself, he clapped his hands together smartly and ordered the servant who answered the summons to bring in coffee and pipes.