through tears for Madame. When he saw her he ceased to weep, but
stood looking down, with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Dead?" he asked abruptly.

The Prince glanced up. "Yes," he answered.

"Ah!" Monsieur Vaucher pondered. "Who killed her?" he asked
presently.

"Look!" said the Prince, and motioned with one hand to the dragoons'
leavings, the very silent citizens who lay about on the flagstones.

"Ah!" said Vaucher again. "And to-morrow the world will ask for an
account. It is not wise to destroy a great genius like this, here in
a corner of your dirty town. That is what you have to learn."

"Yes," said the Prince. "We shall learn something now. She gave her
life to teach it. There will be no more Judenhetze in this city."

"Her life to teach it," repeated Monsieur Vaucher. "She gave her
life." His composure failed him suddenly, and he fell on his knees on
the other side of what had been Truda Schottelius, weeping openly.

"She never failed," he said. "She never failed. A great artist,
Monsieur, the Schottelius! She--she had the sense of climax!"

From the windows of the houses above them, scared curious Jews looked
down uncomprehendingly.