arsija.

"He comes again." "The machine is returning from the Rathaus." The word
flew from lip to lip with the speed of the wind. A few Austrian soldiers
were riding down the street clearing the way. They were all. No police,
no other soldiers. It was horrible. The sides of the machine were
utterly unprotected from the people, who closed in upon it, almost
brushing its wheels. Marishka pressed forward again, jostled this way
and that, until she stood upon the very fringe of the crowd at the
corner of the street. Captain Goritz held her by the elbow. What purpose
was in her mind he could not know. But every nerve in her--every impulse
urged her to go forward to the very doors of the machine and protect
Sophie Chotek, if necessary with her own body, against the dangers
which, as the people about her said, lurked on every corner. The machine
approached very slowly. There was no cheering, and it seemed strange to
Marishka that there could be no joy in the hearts of these people at the
courage of their Heir Presumptive, who had faced death bravely, and now
with more hardihood than prudence was facing it again. The car was open,
and she could see the figures of the royal pair quite clearly, their
faces very pale, the Archduke leaning forward talking with a man in
uniform in the front seat opposite him, the Duchess scanning the crowd
anxiously. As the machine stopped again at the street corner, Marishka
rushed forward until she stood just at its front wheels, waving a hand
and speaking the Duchess's name. She saw the gaze of Sophie Chotek meet
hers, waver and then become fixed again in wonder, in sudden
recognition, and incomprehension. Words formed on the girl's lips and
she called,

"It is I--Marishka Strahni, Duchess--I must speak----"

She got no further. Out of the mass of people just at her elbow the
figure of a man emerging, sprang upon the running board of the machine.
He seemed to wave his hand, and then there were sounds of shots. The
Archduke started up, holding a protecting arm before the body of the
Duchess, who had sunk back into her seat, her hand to her breast. The
Archduke wavered a moment and then fell forward across the knees of the
Duchess.

Of the mad moments which followed, Marishka was barely conscious. She
was pushed roughly back into the turgid crowd and would have fallen had
not an arm sustained her. Men seized the assassin and hurried him away.
There were hoarse shouts, glimpses of soldiers, as t