It was his father who was speaking. He saw through half-closed eyes his father handing the coachman a silver coin. The driver jumped off the box and approached a high wall in front of him. Albert could not make out what the barrier was except that it was high and it cast a great black shadow, revealing in the foreground a little house, and beyond it a gleam of the moon, half hidden, as if balancing itself on the high wall. Schultz knocked on the pane of a tiny window. He used the silver coin as a knocker. Then silence—ominous silence. Albert felt that his father was holding his breath and he, too, caught his breath and sensed the mystery around him. “The lazy louts are asleep,” the coachman murmured. David Zorn passed his hand over his head and emitted a grim grunt. The coachman knocked again with the silver coin. “Open the door—a traveler wants admittance!” he bellowed angrily. There was a stirring inside the little house and a thud as of one rolling off a bench. “The devil take the Jews! _Tausend Donner Sakrament!_ They don’t give a fellow a moment’s rest even on Easter Eve!” A gruff voice was heard within, a clatter of a bolt—of a heavy iron hasp—the clanking of chains—the grating of a key in a lock, the creaking of hinges, two tall gates swinging open slowly, and Albert beheld a bit of sky above the horses’ heads. The sky appeared narrow and high, as if seen from a deep trench. A short, heavy-set man, with a mustache the color of dry sand and the stiffness of bristle, appeared at the opening; between the swinging gates. He held a lantern in his hand, the yellow glare of the tallow candle inside fell grotesquely over his patched jerkin and saffron-colored hose. Schultz put the silver coin into the hand of the man with the lantern. The man put the money into his pocket and mumbled, “Don’t you know any better than to come so long after the gates closed!” He was stretching his arms and yawning. His jaws opened and closed sleepily as he spoke. “We are coming a long way,” the driver explained. “Couldn’t figure on the exact hour.” “How many Jews have you?” “Just one.” The guard walked up to the wagon, raised his lantern, and strained his eyes. “Huh! What do you call this, a suckling?” pointing at Albert, who stared around him in bewilderment. “He is the gentleman’s son,” explained the coachman. “You didn’t bring his cradle along—Huh! When a Jew reaches the age of twelve he is just as much of one for poll tax as he will be at seventy-five. We call it two Jews—huh! One Jew, he says! You can’t fool me!” “How much is it?” Zorn opened his purse, the guard holding the lantern to help him see the contents. “One Jew one _Thaler_, two Jews two _Thalers_—simple arithmetic,” snickered the guard. Zorn paid the price in silence. “How about a few _Pfennige_ for _Trinkgeld_—what do you say? I could have kept you waiting here all night. And tomorrow is Easter.”