"And on which side is the Confederation," asked Benedict.
"On the side of Austria," answered the journalist promptly. "But listen, here is a fresh account of the scene in Unter den Linden."
"Oh! let us have that by all means," cried Benedict. "I was there, and I want to know if the account is correct.
"What! were you there?"
"Very much there," and he added laughing, "I might even say with Æneas, 'Et quorum pars magna fui.' I was in the thick of it."
Herr Bodemeyer continued:
"We are now able to give fuller details concerning the demonstration in Unter den Linden which occurred yesterday after the report of the Emperor Louis Napoleon's speech had been received. It appears that just as our most distinguished vocalist finished singing 'The German Rhine,' which was received with tremendous enthusiasm, a loud hiss was heard. It was soon seen that the author of this insult was a foreigner, a French painter, evidently intoxicated, and who would probably have atoned for his folly with his life, had not some Prussian officers generously protected him from the infuriated populace. The young fool further defied the crowd by giving his name and address, but when enquiries were made at the Black Eagle this morning he had disappeared. We commend his prudence and wish him a pleasant journey."
"Is that paragraph signed," asked Benedict.
"No. Is it inaccurate?" returned the reader.
"May I be permitted to remark that the one thing I have everywhere observed in my wanderings over three of the four quarters of the world—I beg your pardon, there are five, if we count Oceania—is the extremely small regard for truth shown by the purveyors of this sort of news. Whether in the north or the south, St. Petersburg or Calcutta, Paris or Constantinople, they are all alike. Each journal is bound to give so many beats of its drum every day. Good or bad, false or true, it has to give them, and those who feel injured must obtain redress—if they can."