The chairman, after consulting his comrades with a glance, bowed his head in token of consent, and Johann, seizing the permission, launched forth into a full statement of all that had happened since his first meeting with King Maximilian. He wound up his harangue by reiterating what he had already told Schwartz as to the true nature of the conspiracy against the King, and implored those present to banish prejudice from their minds, and come to the rescue of one who was about to fall in their cause.
The meeting heard him out in perfect silence. Schwartz took it upon himself to reply.
“Johann Mark,” he said, gravely, “we have been friends for years, and it goes to my heart to have to cast you off. But the cause is more sacred than friendship. We believe you to be sincere; we do not condemn you, as we might, to the penalties of a traitor; but you have gone over to the enemy, and henceforth there can be no more comradeship between you and us.”
Johann stamped his foot.
“I know you,” he exclaimed bitterly. “You talk of liberty and brotherhood, and yet you calmly stand by and see the sacrifice of the only king who ever showed himself ready to serve the cause of liberty and brotherhood. What are your real motives? Not love of the principles you proclaim so loudly! Not love of the people! But blind hatred for a name.”
“Stop!” It was Schwartz who raised his voice harshly over the angry murmur arising in the hall. “If you have been blinded and deceived, we have not. I know these Astolfs; I know this race of vipers. My daughter and her child were foully done to death by the father of this Maximilian; their blood cries out for vengeance; and rather than stir one inch to save him from his fate, I swear to you that if he were here at this moment, I would strangle him with my own hands!”
A dreadful silence followed the dreadful oath. Johann, sick to his very heart, sank his head upon his breast, and went away out of the company, and out of their communion for ever.
Henceforth he had nothing more to do in Mannhausen. If the King were to be delivered, it must be by his unaided efforts. He took his way back to the railway station at which he had so recently arrived, and as he walked along he saw, staring at him from every wall and hoarding, a proclamation prohibiting the revolutionary demonstration on pain of treason, and signed in the name of Hermengarde, Regent of Franconia.
The following Sunday, armed troops patrolled the streets of Mannhausen, and of all the principal towns in Franconia. In some places the proposed demonstrations were abandoned altogether. In others, the revolutionists gathered, only to be charged, ridden down, and bayoneted by the soldiery. Many were killed, hundreds were taken and thrown into prison, there to await the sternest penalties of the law. The whole revolutionary movement was extinguished as if by a breath, and the Regent’s government received the applause of the civilised world.