When the man heard the clatter of wooden shoes on the flags, he turned round and stretched out both his hands towards him with a cry of joy.
He was dressed in a long-tailed coat, not free from spots, and black trousers bagging over his boots. Long shiny black hair hung in curls, reaching his coat collar under the brim of a dirty yellow straw hat, and his sallow fat face was surrounded by a reddish-brown goat's beard which hung down over a black vest buttoned up to the neck with two rows of horn buttons, so that not a vestige of linen was to be seen.
While Emanuel, who had no idea who this man might be, remained standing by the stable door, the stranger with great difficulty descended the steps; and though it was evident that every step gave him pain, he hurried across the yard with a beaming face till he reached Emanuel. Then he again stretched out his short fat arms and looked at him with delight, his youthful dancing brown eyes half buried in folds of fat, he exclaimed in a curiously soft, but penetrating voice: "If Mohammed won't come to the mountain, the mountain comes to Mohammed. For thou art Emanuel,—I need not ask thee. Thou won't find it easy to disown thy mother, dear friend! I wish thee joy!"
With these words he moved his brown stick from his right hand to his left, and grasped Emanuel's with a hearty grip, as if they were old friends.
