"Colonel Merizzi—they say he is dead. And Count von Waldeck badly wounded."
Marishka shuddered. She had known them both at Konopisht. She caught Captain Goritz by the arm and forced her way to the Stadt Park, following the crowd of people and at last reaching Franz Josef Street, which was filled almost solidly with an excited, gesticulating mass of humanity.
"A Serbian plot!" they heard a man in a turban say in polyglot German. "Not Serbian nor Bosnian. We have no murderers here."
"So say I," cried another. "They will blame it upon us. Where are the police, that the streets are not even cleared."
"Why does he come here to make trouble? We do not love him, but we are an orderly people. Let him be gone."
"He was at least brave. They say after the bomb was thrown into his machine he threw it into the street."
"Brave! Yes. But he is a soldier. Why shouldn't he be brave?"
"Courage may not save him. There is something back of this. A man told me there was a bomb thrower on every street corner."
Marishka pushed forward shuddering, with Captain Goritz close behind her.
"I cannot believe it," she whispered.