"Give your men the order to let us pass," went on Trafford with masterful good humour; "I want to avoid bloodshed! The people mean entering the Strafeburg; they mean rescuing Father Bernhardt!"
Von Hügelweiler laughed scornfully, a rising anger in his heart. How dared this mad foreigner address him in such tones of easy condescension, as if he were a dog to be coaxed aside from a door! What was he doing championing the Princess—his Princess?
"You are a very confident fellow, Herr Trafford!" he called back; "but if you mean forcing this doorway you must do it by your own valour. You have no favourable umpire here, as on the Rundsee."
The allusion passed Trafford by. Nor did he perceive that he was face to face with an angry and excited man.
"Don't waste time, Captain!" he cried. "You see these soldiers here fraternising with the crowd? Ten minutes ago they were holding the Königstrasse for Karl. Do you see those Dragoons over there? Are they forcing a bloody way through the throng to effect our capture? No; the troopers are laughing with the crowd; some of them are singing the 'Rothlied'; even the officers are resigning themselves to the inevitable, and cheering for the Princess."
This was anything but a true description of the real state of affairs, as Trafford could see from his exalted position on the box. To Von Hügelweiler, however,—who could see nothing but a confused mass,—it sounded probable enough. In reality, a pretty stern struggle was going on, the officer commanding the Dragoons desiring above all things to annex the person of the Princess, while at the same time unwilling to embitter the fury of the people by further slaughter. No firearms were used, but the troopers were employing the flats of their swords to considerable purpose, and despite the courage of the people and the support of the mutineers, the protecting wedge between the Princess and the cavalry was being appreciably diminished. Trafford saw that success must come quickly or not at all.
"Let us pass, Captain," he went on. "There's been enough bloodshed to-night. I don't want to hurt a good sportsman like yourself."
But Captain Von Hügelweiler was in no mood to yield to an implied threat.
"To the devil with your kindness!" he cried wildly, brandishing his sword with a defiant gesture. "Drop words and come to hand-grips, schweinhund of an American!"
These words would doubtless have had their effect on the excitable Trafford had not the Princess grasped the vital danger of the moment. In a twinkling she had risen to her feet and thrown out her arms appealingly.