The man vigorously pushed aside those nearest the carriage, and opened the door. The ladies jumped out, and the crowd instantly seized on the horse and cabriolet, which would evidently soon be in pieces.
“What in heaven’s name does it all mean? Do you understand it, Weber?” said the lady, still in German.
“Ma foi, no, madame,” he replied, struggling to free a passage for them to pass.
“But they are not men, they are wild beasts,” continued the lady; “with what do they possibly reproach me?”
She was answered by a voice, whose polite and gentlemanly tone contrasted strangely with the savage murmurs of the people, and which said in excellent German, “They reproach you, madame, with having braved the police order, which appeared this morning, and which prohibited all cabriolets, which are always dangerous, and fifty times more so in this frost, when people can hardly escape fast enough, from driving through the streets until the spring.”
The lady turned, and saw she was addressed by a young officer, whose distinguished and pleasing air, and fine figure, could not but make a favorable impression.
“Oh, mon Dieu, monsieur,” she said, “I was perfectly ignorant of this order.”
“You are a foreigner, madame?” inquired the young officer.
“Yes, sir; but tell me what I must do? they are destroying my cabriolet.”
“You must let them destroy it, and take advantage of that time to escape. The people are furious just now against all the rich, and on the pretext of your breaking this regulation would conduct you before the magistrate.”