t overtone of acrid derision--the
flag and its owner ignominiously disappeared. And the procession moved
on. Almost every shop had a flag flying. And every one of these flags
now disappeared, quickly or slowly, sooner or later, in obedience to the
command of the vicious, derisive crowd, that marched and clotted slowly
down the street, having its own way.

Only one flag remained flying--the big tricolour that floated from the
top storey of the house opposite Aaron's hotel. The ground floor of this
house consisted of shop-premises--now closed. There was no sign of any
occupant. The flag floated inert aloft.

The whole crowd had come to a stop immediately below the hotel, and
all were now looking up at the green and white and red tricolour which
stirred damply in the early evening light, from under the broad eaves of
the house opposite. Aaron looked at the long flag, which drooped almost
unmoved from the eaves-shadow, and he half expected it to furl itself
up of its own accord, in obedience to the will of the masses. Then he
looked down at the packed black shoulders of the mob below, and at the
curious clustering pattern of a sea of black hats. He could hardly see
anything but hats and shoulders, uneasily moving like boiling pitch away
beneath him. But the shouts began to come up hotter and hotter. There
had been a great ringing of a door-bell and battering on the shop-door.
The crowd--the swollen head of the procession--talked and shouted,
occupying the centre of the street, but leaving the pavement clear.
A woman in a white blouse appeared in the shop-door. She came out and
looked up at the flag and shook her head and gesticulated with her
hands. It was evidently not her flag--she had nothing to do with it. The
leaders again turned to the large house-door, and began to ring all
the bells and to knock with their knuckles. But no good--there was
no answer. They looked up again at the flag. Voices rose ragged and
ironical. The woman explained something again. Apparently there was
nobody at home in the upper floors--all entrance was locked--there was
no caretaker. Nobody owned the flag. There it hung under the broad eaves
of the strong stone house, and didn't even know that it was guilty.
The woman went back into her shop and drew down the iron shutter from
inside.

The crowd, nonplussed, now began to argue and shout and whistle. The
voices rose in pitch and derision. Steam was getting up. There hung the
flag. The process