Gretchen pressed the vintner's arm to hold him in his chair.
"Does not your socialism teach that we are all equal?"
The vintner thumped with his stein in approval, and others imitated him. Goldberg was no ordinary fool. He sidestepped defeat by an assumption of frankness.
"Tell us about it. If I have spoken harshly it is only reasonable. Tell us under what circumstance you met her highness and how she happened to tell you this very important news. Every one knows that this marriage is to take place."
Gretchen nodded. "Nevertheless, her highness has changed her mind." And she recounted picturesquely her adventure in the royal gardens, and all hung on her words in a kind of maze. It was all very well to shout, "Down with royalty!" it was another matter to converse and shake bands with it.
"Hurrah!" shouted the vintner. "Long live her highness! Down with Jugendheit!"
There was a fine chorus.
And there was a fine tableau not down on the evening's program. A police officer and three assistants came down the stairs quietly.
"Let no one leave this room!" the officer said sternly.
The dramatic pause was succeeded by a babel of confusion. Chairs scraped, stems clattered, and the would-be liberators huddled together like so many sheep rounded up by a shepherd-dog.