"Seize the vile witch, I say!" he shouted. "Who dares to talk of any one reigning here while Famcram lives? Seize her and burn her! Varlets! Will none of ye stand by your king?"
With these words the king jumped from the dais on which he had been sitting, and rushed forward himself, calling loudly to his guards to come on.
But his cries were to no purpose—every man stood rooted to the ground, and not a hand was lifted to help the tyrant. Then the smile left the face of the old woman, and she turned from Ophelia to face the king. He paused, as she raised her hand and pointed at him with her umbrella, while she spoke again in the same voice as before. And these were her words:—
"Thou slayer of women, disgrace to thy line,
The vengeance is near—be thy punishment mine—
You wished my dear god-child in river to drown.
No, no, tyrant Famcram, this time you're 'done brown!'"
She had no time for more, for, overcoming his fear or whatever had hitherto restrained him, the little tyrant rushed upon her.
The old woman now adopted a most curious course. Dropping her umbrella upon the ground, she made no more ado, but seized Famcram the moment he was within reach, wrenched his sceptre from him, and shook him severely.
He struggled, bit, kicked and yelled, but it was all in vain. That fearful grasp was upon him, against which twenty times his strength had been of no avail.