“You see, there are Von Sigismarks in all ranks. That is the kind of man whom your Ministers would bring before you to tell you about the poorer classes.”
“Will it be safe to question one of these women?” asked the King.
“Yes; but let me do it. I understand these people better than you.”
Johann singled out a woman who might have been any age between forty and sixty. She had just bought a small quantity of firewood, and was filling her apron with the sticks.
“Halloa, mother!” said the Socialist. “That’s not a very big load to cook your Sunday dinner with.”
The old crone glanced up at him crookedly out of her dull, narrow eyes.
“Who told you I had any Sunday dinner to cook?” she returned sullenly, yet not altogether refusing to enter into conversation.
“Come, it’s not so bad as that, is it?” said Johann. “Where does your man work?”
“He’s dead,” she returned indifferently. “I’ve only got a son to support me; and it’s little enough he earns, what with a bad chest and rheumatism in both legs.”
Perhaps she scented a possible gift, for she made no attempt to move off, though the apron was now full.