He was not even so tall as Nina, as Nina had discovered, much to her
surprise. His hair was grizzled, rather than grey, and the beard on his
thin, wiry, wizened face was always close shorn. He was scrupulously
clean in his person, and seemed, even at his age, to take a pride in
the purity and fineness of his linen. He was much older than Nina's
father--more than ten years older, as he would sometimes boast; but he
was still strong and active, while Nina's father was worn out with age.
Old Trendellsohn was eighty, and yet he would be seen trudging about
through the streets of Prague, intent upon his business of money-making;
and it was said that his son Anton was not even as yet actually in
partnership with him, or fully trusted by him in all his plans.

"Father," Nina said, "I am glad that Anton is out, as now I can speak a
word to you."

"My dear, you shall speak fifty words."

"That is very good of you. Of course I know that the house we live in
does in truth belong to you and Anton."

"Yes, it belongs to me," said the Jew.

"And we can pay no rent for it."

"Is it of that you have come to speak, Nina? If so, do not trouble
yourself. For certain reasons, which Anton can explain, I am willing
that your father should live there without rent."

Nina blushed as she found herself compelled to thank the Jew for his
charity. "I know how kind you have been to father," she said.