The people who were in the room went away reproved....
In the afternoon a carriage stopped at the cottage door. It was the warden's britzska, and a very old woman was seated in it. As she could not move without assistance, the servants lifted her out carefully, and carried her into the house. It was Sarah Grün, widow of a former warden of the community, and mother of Frau Hanna, whose stories were so deservedly popular in Barnow. Hanna was sixty years of age, and was nicknamed "Babele" (grannie), and Sarah, who was ninety, was called "Urbabele" (great-grandmother). They were known by these names to every one, great and small, Christian and Jewish, in the little town, and their superior age, wisdom, and knowledge were much respected. Miriam had formerly been a servant in their house, and had won the love of the old woman, who, notwithstanding the opposition of her friends, had now come to see her.
She was carried into the room, and put down on a chair. Miriam glanced indifferently toward her, then seeing who she was, her eyes brightened. "Urbabele!" she cried, throwing herself at the feet of the old woman—"Urbabele, God bless you!..."
She could not say more. Sobs stifled her voice, for at last she wept. The old woman passed her hand gently over her bent head. "Do not speak," she said; "I know your trouble—we all know it.... Do not speak, but hear what I have to propose; listen quietly...."
Her own tears were flowing, and falling over her pale sweet face as she spoke.
"I do not know—I am an old woman, my feet refuse to carry me, and my head is not as strong as it was—but I believe we are wrong in letting your child die. Yes, very wrong; for I do not believe it to be God's will that she should die, nor the will of the great rabbi of Sadagóra—since he is inspired by the spirit of God...."
The old woman paused for a moment, shaking her head as if she wished to negative some thought that had risen to her mind. Then she continued:
"Yes, he has certainly done great wonders. God's spirit moves him, and he has spoken His will concerning you and your child. We must believe what he says. I say that, whether we wish or not, we must believe him. For if we lose our faith in him, we lose our faith in everything.... Therefore our rabbi did not deserve the hard things you said to him yesterday."
"Ah, if you only knew!..."
"Do not speak!" said the old woman, emphatically, as if she wished to impress each word on the widow's mind; "do not speak, do not excuse yourself. You need no excuse. My God! who could blame you, when your child's life was at stake? I can not, for I also am a mother.... But listen to me: whatever the rabbi ordains must be—as you know.... I have thought of everything, and your only chance is to go to Sadagóra, and beg for the life of your child."