He went first among the strikers, and we saw him advising, arguing, urging, pleading, commanding in turn with no effect. Those whom he addressed listened to him at first with a measure of patience but afterwards with shrugs, sullen looks, intolerant gestures, and at last with stubborn, angry resentment at his interference, or jeers and flouts according to their humour.
And all this time the preparations were not stayed a second but hurried forward with feverish haste and vengeful lust of fight.
At length, I saw him thrust aside roughly, almost savagely, by one burly fellow who had been building the barricade and now stood gripping a heavy iron crowbar and wiping the sweat from his brow.
This act served as a cue for the rest. Ladislas was passed from hand to hand, and pushed with jibes and oaths, from the centre of the barricade to the pavement.
For an instant he tried a last appeal to the men about him; but their only reply was a jeering laugh, half contemptuous, half angry, but wholly indifferent to every word he uttered.
Just then a loud command from the officer in charge of the troops was given and the soldiers advanced a few paces and levelled their guns.
In a moment Ladislas had climbed over the barricade and rushed forward into the space between the troops and the mob. He ran forward with uplifted hand.
“For the love of God, peace,” he cried to the officer, his voice clear and strong above the din. “No more blood must be shed.”
For an instant a silence fell upon both sides, and all eyes were fixed upon him.
The next, a single shot was fired from among the ranks of the troops.