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 dry face, as much as to say: “Merchant Jiskra spoke in the same elegiac tones of the aristocracy a week ago, and in the same words,”—but he kept silent.

“Maybe,” added Jiskra, this time going beyond his usual custom, “things would have been different with us, if that aristocracy still existed.”

The collector shook his head, but continued smoking. The adjuncts drew a deep sigh.

The trusty man again unbent himself for another speech. No other European nation, he said, was in such a position as we. The blood of slaves runs in our veins. Who was left after the battle at the White Mountain? Cowardly people, renegades, traitors of their faith. Their thin blood had mingled with the blood of a mob of foreign intruders. It is true, there was once such a crowd in ancient Rome,—outlaws, thieves, and rough soldiers,—the town of Romulus had grown up and flourished with them; but