She was silent. A breath like a sigh came up from the silent lips of the listeners.
Then one stood up slowly, resting his fists upon the shoulders of the man who crouched before him, and asked, raising his thin face with its fanatical eyes to the girl:
“And where is our mediator, Maria?”
The girl looked at him, and over her sweet face passed the gleam of a boundless confidence.
“Wait for him,” she said. “He is sure to come.”
A murmur ran through the rows of men. Freder bowed his head to the girl’s feet. His whole soul said:
“It shall be I.”
But she did not see him and she did not hear him.
“Be patient, my brothers!” she said. “The way which your mediator must take is long.... There are many among you who cry, ‘Fight! Destroy!'—Do not fight, my brothers, for that makes you to sin. Believe me: One will come, who will speak for you—who will be the mediator between you, the Hands, and the man whose Brain and Will are over you all. He will give you something which is more precious than anything which anybody could give you: To be free, without sinning.”
She stood up from the stone upon which she had been sitting. A movement ran through the heads turned towards her. A voice was raised. The speaker was not to be seen. It was as if they all spoke: