“How did you know?” she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.

The big young man smiled.  “How did I know that you, too, were a Jew—­ is that what you mean?” Truda nodded.  “Ah, Excellency, there is an instinct in this thing, and, besides, who but a Jew is a great artist nowadays?  Believe me, there is not one of us from whom you could hide it.”

“Is it as plain as that?” asked Truda.

“As plain as that,” he replied.  She laughed frankly, meeting his eyes with unabashed mirth, till he perforce smiled in sympathy.

“Then,” she cried, “what, does it matter?  Here I am, a Jewess.  I cannot hide it.  The first Jewish baby that cries for me wins me over; and there are worse things—­yes, many worse things—­than being knocked on the head by a drunken Christian.  You didn’t know that, did you?”

“I do not doubt what you say,” he answered.

“You do not doubt!” repeated Truda, with quick contempt.  “I tell you it is so, and I know.  Yes!” For a moment her face darkened as though with memories.  “But,” she went on, “I have a place.  I have a name.  What I say will be heard.”

“Yes,” said the Jew simply.  “What you say will be heard.”

She nodded two or three times slowly.  “Wait!” she said.  “I know the Governor of this place; he is by way of being a friend of mine.  And beyond him there are greater men all easy of access—­to me.  And beyond them is the sentiment of Europe, the soft hearts of the world, easiest and nearest of all.  I tell you, something can be done; presently there will be a reckoning with these gentle Christians.”

She had stirred him at last.  “And you will acknowledge that you are a Jewess?” he asked.

She laughed.  “I will boast of it,” she cried.  “And now, this is the time to take the baby away, while I am nerved for sacrifices.  Soon I shall have nothing left at all.”

The young Jew looked over to the child, who was getting new effects out of a spoon and a dish of jam.  “The child is in good hands,” he said.  “We shall know she is safe with you.”

“Ah!” Truda turned to him with a light in her wonderful eyes.  “I shall not fail you, if it were only for this.”

“I am sure you will not fail your own people,” he answered; “you do not come of traitors.”

He patted the baby’s cheek with a couple of big fingers and turned to the door.

“You do not come of traitors,” he repeated, and then Truda was alone again with the child.  But she did not go to it at once, to make sure of its company.  She stood where the Jew had left her, deep in thought.  And the manner of her thinking was not one of care; for the first time she seemed to taste a sense of freedom.