Already the mob had begun to melt. In a few minutes only a few stragglers in knots here and there were left, amongst them my acquaintance and myself.
He was a handsome young fellow, with a thin dark face, bright brown eyes, and a voice so soft that if I had heard without seeing him, I should almost have supposed the speaker to be a woman.
“We, too, had better be off,” said he.
“And prove ourselves also chicken-hearted?” queried I.
“Oh, discretion is the better part of valour,” he returned.
“But I should like to see the arrival of the military,” I submitted.
“Ha! Like or not, I’m afraid you’ll have to now,” he cried. “Here they come.”
With a murmurous tramp, tramp, they were pouring into the Bischofsplatz from the side streets leading to it.
“We must take to our heels, said my young man.
“We were merely on-lookers,” said I.