l then, ghastly killings of men
who crawled among the horses' feet and were hunted out to be
slaughtered. And in the middle of it, the Prince was on his knees,
holding up a brown head in the crook of his arm, seeing nothing of
the butchery at his elbow.

It was when the killing was done, and the dragoons were clearing the
street, that there arrived on tiptoe Monsieur Vaucher, searching
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.

III

THE TRADER OF LAST NOTCH

In Manicaland, summer wears the livery of the tropics. At the foot of
the hills north of Macequece every yard of earth is vocal with life,
and the bush is brave with color. Where the earth shows it is red, as
though a wound bled. The mimosas have not yet come to flower, but
amid their delicate green--the long thorns, straight or curved like
claws, gleam with the flash of silver. Palms poise aloft, brilliant
and delicate, and under foot, flowers are abroad. The flame-blossom
blazes in scarlet. The sangdieu burns in sullen vermilion. Insects
fill the world with the noise of their business--spiders,
butterflies, and centipedes, ants, beetles, and flies, and mysterious
entities that crawl nameless under foot. A pea-hen shrieks in the
grass, and a kite whistles aloft. A remote speck in the sky denotes a
watchful vulture, alert for any mishap to the