Nowhere in all the Czar's dominions dared any man sing that song.
As the boy's strong, clear voice rang out in the last cry for vengeance, there thrilled in his tones an intensity of passion that gripped hard the hearts of those who had known all their lives long the bitterness of tyranny unspeakable.

In the last word the lad's voice broke in a sob.

Most of that company knew the boy's story, and knew that he was singing out his heart's deepest passion.
When the song was finished, there was silence for a few brief moments; then a man, a Russian, caught the boy in his arms, lifted him on his shoulder and carried him round the room, the rest of the men madly cheering.

All but one.

Trembling with inarticulate rage, Rosenblatt strode to the musicians.
"Listen!" he hissed with an oath.