A WEAVER'S WIFE
[Calls in.] Gottlieb, look at your wife. She's more pluck in her than you. She's jumpin' about in front o' the bay'nets as if she was dancin' to music.
[Four men carry a wounded rioter through the entry-room. Silence, which is broken by some one saying in a distinct voice, "It's weaver Ulbrich." Once more silence for a few seconds, when the same voice is heard again: "It's all over with him; he's got a bullet in his ear." The men are heard climbing the wooden stair. Sudden shouting outside: "Hurrah, hurrah!"
VOICES IN THE ENTRY-ROOM
"Where did they get the stones from?"—"Yes, it's time you were off!"—"From the new road."—"Ta-ta, soldiers!"—"It's rainin' paving-stones."
[Shrieks of terror and loud roaring outside, taken up by those in the entry-room. There is a cry of fear, and the house door is shut with a bang.
VOICES IN THE ENTRY-ROOM
"They're loadin' again."—"They'll fire another volley this minute."—"Father Hilse, get away from that window."
GOTTLIEB
[Clutches the axe.] What! is we mad dogs? Is we to eat powder an' shot now instead o' bread? [Hesitating an instant to the old man.] Would you have me sit here an' see my wife shot? Never! [As he rushes out.] Look out! I'm coming!