“There is a mob gathering again at the market,” he said.  “Two spirit-shops have been broken open.  That is how it begins always.  Some Jews who were found in the street were beaten to death; soon they will move down to the Jewish streets, and then”—­his breath came harsh through set teeth—­“then murder and looting—­the old programme.  Now I have told you; can you do anything?”

“Let us find a droshky,” said Truda, “and go to the Jewish quarter.”

“A droshky!” He stared at her.  “Do you think any driver will take us there to-night?”

“Then we can walk,” said Truda; “show the way.  If we stay here any longer, I shall be seen and prevented.”

He hesitated an instant; then set off sharply, so that now and again she had to run a few paces to keep up with him.  He took her round by the back of the theatre and into a muddle of streets that led thence.  The quiet of the night closed about them; Truda was embarked upon her purpose.

“How can you help?” asked the young man again.  “Tell me what you will do?”

“Me?” said Truda.  “For to-night I can do nothing; I am not an army.  But I think that after to-night there will be no more Judenhetze in this city.  That is what I think.  For, after all, I am the Schottelius; people know me and set a value on me, and if harm comes to me there will be a reckoning.”

He was looking down sideways on her as she spoke.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“All!” cried Truda, and braced herself to subdue his doubts.  “All!  It is enough, and more than enough.  Have I come so far without knowing what will rouse my audience?” She slowed her steps, and he slowed to keep by her side.  She lifted her clear face proudly.  “I tell you,” she said, “the part I am to play to-night will move Europe to its core.  Paris!  Berlin!  Vienna!  Even cautious prim London!  I have them under my hand; even to-morrow they will be asking an account, crying for the heads of the wrongdoers on a charger.  And you ask me if that is all!”

“You do not know,” he said.  “To-night, it is not a play; it is life and death.”

“But to-morrow it is life!” she retorted.  “Let us go on; we must not be late.”

They came by roundabout ways at last to that little groups of streets, beyond the jail and the markets, where the Jews had their homes.  Here were tall brick houses overshadowing narrow streets ill-lit by infrequent lamps, little shops closely shuttered, courtyards with barred gates.  Over the roofs there rose against the sky the clustered spires and domes of a typical Russian church, flanking the quarter on the south.  The streets were empty; they met no one; and the young man led her to a courtyard in which, perhaps, a couple of hundred Jews were gathered, waiting.  His knock brought a face to the top of the wall, and after a parley the great gate was opened wide enough to let them slip through.  When they were in, Truda touched her companion.