But the sight of bricks had attractions for none, and they passed without impediment through the great town-gate. Boolba in his narrow place of concealment could hear nothing but the noise and shouts of the coachmen. Yankel, bumping up and down on his diminutive dust-covered steed, after many turnings, went at last into a dark narrow lane, which was called the Dirty or Jewish street, because in fact it was inhabited by all the Jews of Warsaw. This lane was very much like a back yard turned inside out. The sun never seemed to come there. Wooden houses, quite black from age, with a number of poles sticking out of the windows, made the lane look still darker. At rare intervals, red brick walls might be observed here and there, but even they in many places had turned quite black. Still more rarely did a portion of some high plastered wall glimmer in the sun with a white gleam intolerable to the eyes. Everything here bore the most striking appearance--chimneys, rags, scales, broken tubs. Every one threw into the street whatever was of no use to him, and the passers-by had every opportunity of finding employment for all their senses in the midst of this rubbish. The rider on his horse could often almost reach with his hand the poles which stuck across the street from one house to the other, and on which hung Jewish stockings, short trowsers, or a smoked goose. At times might be seen at some decayed window the face of a pretty Jewess, her head adorned with discoloured false pearls; a crowd of curly-headed Jewish boys, dirty and ragged, screamed and rolled in the mud. A redhaired Jew, with a face all covered with freckles, which made it resemble a sparrow's egg, looked out of a window, and began at once to talk with Yankel in his unintelligible gibberish, and Yankel presently drove into a yard. Another Jew going along the street, stopped and also entered into the conversation, and when Boolba at last crawled from under the bricks, he saw three Jews who were talking with great vehemence. Yankel addressed him, saying that everything should be done, that his Ostap was now lying in prison, and that, though it would be difficult to prevail upon the sentries, yet he hoped to obtain an interview for him. Boolba entered the room together with the three Jews. They began again to speak in their unintelligible language. Tarass looked by turns at each of them. He seemed to labour under some strong excitement; his hard indifferent features seemed to light up with some unusual flame of hope, of that hope which sometimes enters the heart of him who is reduced to the lowest degree of despair. His old heart beat high, like that of a young man.