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Updated: June 27, 2025
"I have done nothing," said Truda. "The child is a dear little thing. I I wish she were mine." "She, too, is a Jew," said the other. "I know," answered Truda. The steadiness of his gaze was an embarrassment by now. She flushed a little under it. "I am wondering," she said, "if nothing can be done. I think I believe that the world does not know of this persecution.
The courtyard was a large one, penned between a couple of houses, and separated from the street by the wall which the great gate pierced. From it half a dozen doors led into the houses, each a possible road of escape when the hour should come. Truda looked about her calmly. The people were standing about in large groups men, women, and children and they spoke in whispers among themselves.
What is it?" called Truda, in soft Russian, and stepped down to the ground. Only that shrill weeping answered her. She picked her way to the pavement, where something lay huddled against the wall of the house, and the coachman, torpid on his box behind the fidgety horses, started at her sharp exclamation. "Come here!" she called to him. "Bring me one of the lamps. Here is a horrible thing.
Sila Tsarevich lived with his father two years; then he returned to the kingdom of King Salom, received from him the crown, and ruled over the country with his Queen Truda in great love and happiness. In a certain country lived a Tsar named Kartaus, who had twelve knights, and the Tsar had a chief over these knights, Prince Lasar Lasarevich.
He was hot and nervous, and Truda met him with the splendid hauteur she could assume upon occasion to quell interference with her actions. Behind her, upon a couch, the child was lying wrapped in a shawl, looking on the pair of them and Truda's hovering maid with great almond eyes set in a little smooth swarthy face. "Madame, Madame!" cried M. Vaucher. "What is this I hear?
Truda paused to make no explanations at all when the hotel was reached, but passed through the hall and up to her own rooms with the frightened child in her arms. But what the coachman had to say, when questioned, presently brought her manager knocking at her door.
He stood just within the door, his peaked cap in his hand, great of stature, keen- faced, rugged, with steady eyes that took her in unwinkingly. The pair of them made a contrast not the less grotesque because in each there was strength. For some moments neither spoke, while the baby gurgled happily. Truda sighed. "She knows you," she said. "She is a dear little thing." The Jew nodded.
How are we to get on in Russia in Russia of all places if you go in the face of public opinion like this?" "I do not know," replied Truda very calmly. She took a chair beside the child, leaving him standing, and put a long white hand on the little tumbled head. "It is incredible!" he said. "Incredible! And at such a time as this, too. What do you propose to do with the child?"
It was a question, and the coachman shuffled uneasily. "I think," he stammered, while the lamp swayed in his gauntleted hand and its light traveled about them in wild curves "I think, your Excellency, it is a Jew." "A Jew!" Truda stared at him. "Yes." He bent to look closer at the dead woman, puffing with the exertion. "Yes," he repeated, "a Jew. That is all, your Excellency."
Therefore he went to make it known that a Jewish baby of two or thereabouts was to be had for the asking, at the hotel; and Truda went to work to make her newly- found responsibility comfortable. For that night she experienced what a great artist must often miss something with a flavor more subtle than the realization of a strong role, than passion, than success.
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