“Tell me, Herr Morton, what news from the capital?”
“Things are in a very unsettled state there, I am afraid, Miss Rosen. The fate of the royal family and the imprisoned leaders of the nobility is not known positively. The Parliament has adjourned for the celebration of the feast of All Souls and will not re-open until Saturday evening. It is expected that Flava will, on that day, try to carry the assembly in favor of his extreme views and that the Flavarists and the liberal Left will cast their vote with him if he so chooses. Everybody takes it for granted that he will ask for a vote condemning the royal family and nobility to expulsion or, perhaps, worse. He will not spare any of them. In the cafés it is rumored that he is seeking to duplicate the proceedings of the French Chamber after the fall of the Gironde—and you know what that means! If we are to act, we must act promptly, or it may be too late. The two ladies must be out of this town by Sunday at the latest.”
Rachel’s face had grown pale. Her hands kept crossing and uncrossing convulsively, and a look of deep fear came into her eyes.
“God of my people,” she whispered in an awed voice, “this is terrible! You are right, Herr Morton, the ladies must be taken away. Oh, Herr Morton—our peasants and our townspeople here are so good and obedient if only they are left to their own good natures. So happy and contented! They love their homes, they love peace and adore their king! Unhappy land—the football of ambitious villains! Yes, yes, Herr Morton, the ladies must be rescued. And we, too,—my father and I will go also. God help us!”
Morton listened silently to this outburst, unable to say a word. What crimes are not committed in the name of liberty! And what fearful sufferings are not endured for those so-called rights of man!
“Father has told me that you are an American. You are the first from that country I have met. You look as if you could accomplish what you undertake. Oh, how I wish I could help!”
“You can, nay, you are helping, Miss Rosen. But you are too young to have such a burden and sorrow thrust upon you.”
“The daughters of our race become women very early in life. We ripen soon. Our people have had to bear a life of persecution for many generations. We know what it is to suffer. That has ever been the lot of the Jew. Believe me, Herr Morton, ours is but a brief childhood.”
Morton could say nothing; he could but look the sympathy he was feeling. The color had mounted to the girl’s cheeks and she was speaking from an overflowing heart:
“It will help you, perhaps, to know that my father has always been very close to—to Miss Helène’s father. They were friends for many years. Father is a very learned and wise man, Herr Morton, and very brave and loyal. Once he is your friend, he is always your friend. You can rely on my father. He will be here shortly. He is absent on purpose. He did not want to be in when you called, so as to put off suspicion.”