The speaker glanced searchingly at his companion. He would have given a great deal to know how much of an impression he was making on the phlegmatic Rexanian, who continued to drink brandy without growing one whit more demonstrative. Finally Rudolph said, as a tremendous crash of thunder died away in bounding echoes across the Sound:
“What are you driving at, Ludovics? Can’t you leave the brunt of the business to Posadowski?”
The excitable little Rexanian controlled his agitation with an effort. “He’s so damned conservative, Rudolph!” he cried. “I believe he thinks he can persuade Prince Carlo to abdicate, even if the king does not die while his heir-apparent is cooped up here.” Then he jumped from his chair and strode nervously up and down the room. “It’s all nonsense! Trying to compromise with a monarchy is like giving your wife your purse: you get the leather back and she keeps the money. Rudolph,”—and here the little man stood still and glanced piercingly at his companion—“no monarchy in Europe can be turned into a republic unless somebody, somewhere, uses heroic measures.”
The lodge-keeper smiled cautiously.
“Don’t you call kidnapping a traveller in this part of the world using heroic measures?”
Ludovics flushed angrily. “Only fools,” he cried, “use heroic measures that are not quite heroic enough. Don’t be stupid, Rudolph. You understand me. Pish! how I hate half-baked patriots! We’d have won our fight ten years ago, if we hadn’t had among us men who didn’t dare take advantage of the power they had grasped. The Rexanian republic must never be lost again because we revolutionists aren’t equal to the crisis that confronts us. Do you think,” he cried, again standing in front of Rudolph and gesticulating wildly, “do you think I care for my liberty or my life if I can do something that will give my country freedom? I hate all kings, Rudolph. Who dare say to me that a king deserves mercy at my hands? Did not a king kill my father and banish me from the land of my birth? Did not a king seize my patrimony and leave me a pauper, an outcast, a man without a country and without a hope? Mercy? I would sooner give meat to a dog that bit my shins than grant life to a king whose breast was at my dagger’s end. Do you know me now, Rudolph? Do you read my heart? I tell you, man, the night outside is not blacker than my soul when I think of kings. Kings! Kings! They say God made them! Then, by God, the devil shall destroy them. Give me more brandy, Rudolph. The storm is working in my blood! Ha, but that was a glorious flash! The sky’s own fireworks light the coming of our prince to our little dove-cot.”
A wild crash of thunder seemed to applaud the madman’s words.
“Keep quiet,” cried Rudolph, jumping up and placing his fat, yellowish hand on Ludovics’ arm. “I hear the sound of wheels. Yes, yes, man, I am right. They are here.”
A carriage stopped outside, and a blow that echoed through the cottage fell on the iron gate that blocked the roadway.