"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.