She arose. All her vital energy seemed aroused. Her son meanwhile was speaking down below. She could not
have told what he was saying. She did not hear him--she only heard the murmur of approbation, sometimes
low, sometimes loud, which came to her ears from the quarters of the men. The people were astonished at the
noble bearing of the speaker, his melodious speech, and his powerful energy. When he stopped at certain
times to rest it seemed as if one were in a wood swept by a storm. She could now and then hear a few voices
declaring that such a one had never before been listened to. The women at her side wept; she alone could not.
A choking pain pressed from her breast to her lips. Forces were astir in her heart which struggled for
expression. The whole synagogue echoed with buzzing voices, but to her it seemed as if she must speak
louder than these. At the very moment her son had ended she cried out unconsciously, violently throwing
herself against the lattice-work:
'God! living God! shall I not now speak?' A dead silence followed this outcry. Nearly all had recognized this
voice as that of the 'silent woman.' A miracle had taken place!
'Speak! speak!' resounded the answer of the rabbi from the men's seats below. 'You may now speak!'
But no reply came. Veile had fallen back into her seat, pressing both hands against her breast. When the
women sitting beside her looked at her they were terrified to find that the 'silent woman' had fainted. She was
dead! The unsealing of her lips was her last moment.
Long years afterwards the rabbi died. On his death-bed he told those standing about him this wonderful
penance of Veile.
Every girl in the gasse knew the story of the 'silent woman.'