The librarian, in his curt, dry manner, yet with a warmth unusual to him, described the doctor’s great learning and brilliant intellect, saying that his father, though a Jew, had been in his way an aristocratic man, allied with many a noble family, for until the reign of King Emanuel, who persecuted the Hebrews, they had enjoyed great distinction in Portugal.  In those days it had been hard to distinguish Jews from Christians.  At the time of the expulsion a few favored Israelites had been allowed to stay, among them the worthy Rodrigo, the doctor’s father, who had been the king’s physician and was held in high esteem by the sovereign.  Lopez obtained the highest honors at Coimbra, but instead of following medicine, like his father, devoted himself to the humanities.

“There was no need to earn his living—­to earn his living,” continued the monk, speaking slowly and carefully, and repeating the conclusion of his sentence, as if he were in the act of collating two manuscripts, “for Rodrigo was one of the wealthiest men in Portugal.  His son Lopez was rich, very rich in friends, and among them were numbered all to whom knowledge was dear.  Even among the Christians he had many friends.  Among us—­I mean in our library—­he also obtained great respect.  I owe him many a hint, much aid; I mean in referring me to rare books, and explaining obscure passages.  When he no longer visited us, I missed him sorely.  I am not curious; or do you think I am?  I am not curious, but I could not help inquiring about him, and then I heard very bad things.  Women are to blame for everything; of course it was a woman again.  A merchant from Flanders—­a Christian—­had settled in Porto.  The doctor’s father visited his house; but you probably know all this?”

“Of course! of course!” cried the magistrate.  “But go on with your story.”

“Old Doctor Rodrigo was the Netherlander’s physician, and closed his eyes on the death-bed.  An orphan was left, a girl, who had not a single relative in Porto.  They said—­I mean the young doctors and students who had seen her—­that she was pleasing, very pleasing to the eye.  But it was not on that account, but because she was orphaned and desolate, that the physician took the child—­I mean the girl.”

“And reared her as a Jewess?” interrupted the magistrate, with a questioning glance.

“As a Jewess?” replied the monk, excitedly.  “Who says so?  He did nothing of the sort.  A Christian widow educated her in the physician’s country-house, not in the city.  When the young doctor returned from Coimbra, he saw her there more than once—­more than once; certainly, more often than was good for him.  The devil had a finger in the matter.  I know, too, how they were married.  Before one Jew and two Christian witnesses, they plighted their troth to each other, and exchanged rings—­ rings as if it were a Christian ceremony, though he remained a Jew and she a Christian.