en looked about them
with quick, furtive movements, a bewildered, frightened look in their
dark eyes. The women held their shawls over their faces, and pressed
against their skirts were little children. A stale, dirty smell came
from them all. I overcame my disgust and looked more closely. How white
the faces were, with purple sockets for the eyes, and dried, cracked
lips! No one seemed to have any personality. One pallid face was like
another under the stamp of suffering. Gendarmes with whips kept them on
the move, and struck the leader when there was any mix-up that halted
the procession for a moment. The Jews seemed to shrink into themselves
under the lash, sinking their heads between their thin, narrow
shoulders, then pressed forward again with frantic haste.

I heard the clanking of iron, and into a separate baggage car I noticed
the gendarmes were driving a group linked together with heavy iron
chains. I was horrified! I had the persistent impression of passing
through an experience already known--"Where have I seen this before?"
went over and over in my mind, and I felt a dread that seemed the
forewarning of some personal danger to myself. I was so very near such
terrible and hopeless suffering. What kept me from stepping into that
stream of whip-driven, helpless people?

"Who are they?" I asked Marie.

"They are Galician Jews whom the Government is transporting into
Siberia."

"But why?"

"Because the Russians don't trust Jews. Whole villages and towns in
Galicia are emptied and taken to Siberia by _etapes_--part of the way
by marches, part in baggage cars."

"In this heat?" I exclaimed. "But hundreds must die!"

"Not hundreds--thousands," Marie replied.

"Does it do any good?"

"No. But this present Government is very reactionary and the persecution
of the Jews is part of its programme. You know, it is always under the
reactionary Government, which is pro-German, that the pogroms take
place."

We had got into a droshky and were driving through city streets. Women
from the country were bringing in milk. People seemed to be walking
about freely enough.

The Jews with their bowed necks seemed far away--as though, after all, I
had read about them in a book. Could I have elbowed them and smelt them
only a few minutes ago?

I was in Russia. How sweet the morning air was! We were climbing a
cobble-stoned hill. Institutska Oulitza. Here we are! And we stopped at
the Tchedesky Pension.

Good-bye for n