"Yes, indeed," said David.
"Well, go ahead, then! Begin!" And suddenly resounded through the hall:
"Freude, schöner Gutter funken,"
but fewer and fewer voices joined the chorus, weaker and weaker grew the song, till, at last, old Uncle Bräsig stood there, with the book before his nose, and the tears running down his cheeks, and sung:
"Seid umschlungen Millionen,
Untergang der Lügenbrut!"
That was too strong, they couldn't stand that. "Lying brood!" No, that was too much; they all lied, to be sure, but only when it was necessary. The company rose from table, very much out of humor. Bräsig sat down in a corner and began to grumble, he was vexed to his inmost heart; the young people began to dance again, and David and Slusuhr sat in an adjoining room, drinking champagne, and cracking their jokes over Uncle Bräsig.
"Herr Inspector," said the carpenter Schultz to Bräsig, after a while, "there are some people sitting in No. 3, and the notary and David are poking fun at you, because you bring your politics into everything, and the notary said, if the French should get no king after Louis Philippe, then you might become King of France; you had nothing to do, and might like the situation."
"Did he say that?" asked Uncle Bräsig, rising from the corner, with great energy.
"Yes, he said that, and the others laughed at it."
"And he is sitting in Grammelin's No. 3?"