gesticulating, shouting red
demon.

Guns were appearing now. Wagons loaded with them drove into the Square,
to be surrounded by a howling mob. The percentage of sober citizens
was growing--sober citizens no longer. For the little King had not been
shown to them. Obviously he could not be shown to them. Therefore rumor
was right, and the boy was gone.

Against the Palace, therefore, their rage was turned. The shouts for
the little King turned to threats. The Archbishop had come out on the
balcony accompanied by Father Gregory. The Archbishop had raised his
hands, but had not obtained silence. Instead, to his horror and dismay,
a few stones had been thrown.

He retired, breathing hard. But Father Gregory had remained, facing the
crowd fearlessly, his arms not raised in benediction, but folded across
his chest. Stones rattled about him, but he did not flinch, and at last
he gained the ears of the crowd. His great voice, stern and fearless;
held them.

"My friends," he said, "there is work to be done, and you lose time. We
cannot show you the King, because he is not here. While you stand there
shrieking, his enemies have their will of him. The little King has been
stolen from the Palace."

He might have swayed them, even then. He tried to move them to a search
of the city. But a pallid man, sweating with excitement, climbed on the
shoulders of two companions, and faced the crowd.

"Aye, he is stolen," he cried. "But who stole him? Not the city. We are
loyal. Ask the Palace where he is. Ask those who have allied themselves
with Karnia. Ask Mettlich."

There was more, of course. The cries of "To the Palace!" increased.
Those behind pushed forward, shoving the ones ahead toward the archway,
where a line of soldiers with fixed bayonets stood waiting.

The Archduchess and Hilda with a handful of women, had fled to the roof,
and from there saw the advance of the mob. Hedwig had haughtily refused
to go.

It had seemed to Hedwig that life itself was over. She did not care very
much. When the Archbishop had been driven back from the balcony, she
foresaw the end. She knew of Nikky's treason now, knew it in all its
bitterness, but not all its truth. And, because she had loved him,
although she told herself her love was dead, she sought him out in the
room where he sat and waited.

She was there when old Adelbert had brought his news and had fallen,
before he could finish, Nikky had risen; and looked at her, rather
stoni