ter, having discussed the
one topic of the day, Mendel's _bar-mitzvah_, had extinguished their
candles and sought their pillows, preparatory to again venturing forth
into a cold and inhospitable world in search of their meagre
subsistence.

In the village, too, the serfs had retired, the brawling in "Paradise"
had gradually ceased, and silent night had cast her mantle of sleep over
Togarog.

A dim rumbling of wagons, a clattering of horses' hoofs, a murmur of
men's voices fell upon the air. Nearer and nearer came the sounds and
the soldiers that produced them, until the village was reached. With as
little noise as possible, the company crept through the narrow streets
until they came to the inn of our friend Basilivitch, who evidently
expected them, for he hastily opened the door and bade the martial band
enter. There was a whispered consultation between the host and the
leader of the soldiers. Basilivitch put on his cap and guided the
captain through the village. Carefully the two scanned the houses, and
now and then Basilivitch drew a cross upon one of the doors with a piece
of red chalk. They then directed their footsteps to the Jewish quarter,
where they repeated their tactics, and finally rejoined their companions
in "Paradise." Here the soldiers were given their instructions, and
silently and stealthily, lest they might arouse the village and invite
resistance, they crept forth in twos, to the huts marked with the mystic
sign of the cross. The house of Podoloff was the first they reached.
Cautiously one of the soldiers knocked at the door.

"Who's there?" cried a voice, inside.

"Friends! Open at once!" was the enticing answer.

Podoloff hastily attired himself, and, cautiously opening the door, he
peeped through the crevice. At the sight of the soldiers, he
instinctively divined danger, and tried to bar the entrance. Too late!
One of the soldiers had already thrust the muzzle of his gun into the
opening, while the other forced his way into the room.

"Utter a single cry," he said, "and you are a corpse."

Resistance was useless. Podoloff, in spite of his pleading, was seized
and his hands bound behind him. Then, while one man held guard over the
captive's wife and children, the other ransacked the house, rummaging
through filthy and worm-eaten closets, and exploring dirty coffers, into
which had been thrust a wretched assortment of rags--the garb of
slavery. Every scrap of paper was captured and jealously