Reeling as they advanced, linked together arm in arm, roaring out a chorus, the real tune of which was a matter of conjecture, three fantastic figures turned into the square from a side street, and suddenly confronted her. Students they were proclaimed in every long lock of hair, every extravagant item of attire; in the high boots and the spurs, the scarves, the clanking rapiers.
The Platz, with its staid burgherlike respectability, was filled with tipsy clamour. Judging by the colours profusely displayed and the bellowed words of the chorus, a bellicose patriotism was the night's inspiration. But, not content with wine-jug and harmony, the singers were not proof against lighter relaxation, as became evident upon their catching sight of the girl under the shadow of the trees.
"A prize, a prize!" shouted he who seemed to be the leader of the three, a red-headed Hercules. He took a lurching run in front of his companions, seized Sidonia playfully by the shoulders, and pulled her under the light of the nearest lamp.
The furious gesture with which she flung him off revealed again the ill-timed splendour of her attire. For a moment the three students stood staring open-mouthed. Then he who seemed the soberest of the party—he had a sleek impertinent face and an air of jocose solemnity—broke into cackling laughter:
"Positively, a bird from the tyrant's aviary," he cried. "A foreign, French bird! By all the laws of civilized warfare, a prize of the captor! ... Matam!" he pursued; in a vile French, bowed extravagantly, seized Sidonia's hand and tucked it against his side. "Matam, fly to the guardianship of the Law."
"Positively, a bird from the tyrant's aviary," he cried. "A foreign, French bird! By all the laws of civilized warfare, a prize of the captor!"
"Nay, take refuge within the bosom of the Church," interrupted the third, intoning the words: "Raise your glances heavenwards!" He shot out a black arm and lifted her chin with two dank fingers reeking of canaster.
Sidonia, who had been paralyzed with fright and the sense of her own helplessness, here once more struck herself free—this time with a wild cry for the watch. Her cry was answered by shouts and cat-calls; and now, with a mighty clatter of spurred boots, a fresh detachment of Studiosi joined the advance party. As in a nightmare, Sidonia found herself the centre of a struggling drunken laughing babel, which presently resolved itself into a circle that wheeled, stamping and jingling in time to a ribald chorus.
One of the dancers suddenly broke the ring; a flaring bearded face was thrust forward.