Tarsis betrayed no sign of impatience, as he was wont to do when Signor Ulrich indulged his gift for detailed narrative. Indeed, he himself lengthened the story by putting questions to bring out salient facts. The general superintendent could not credit the startling deduction, at first, but he became positive, as the evidence increased, that his master—Antonio Tarsis, possessor of untold wealth, the industrial ruler who in the past had only a smile for the demonstrations of labour—Signor Ulrich perceived that he was concerned, in this avalanche of rage, for the security of his person.
“Do you think the military will be able to hold them at bay until re-enforcements come?” he asked.
“I am afraid not, signore,” the other replied.
“Why?”
“Because there is no certainty of the re-enforcements.”
“Two classes of reserves, you say, have been summoned. Will they not respond?”
“Some of them tried to respond, but they were halted by the rioters and turned back. A thousand started this morning from Piacenza. Men and women threw themselves in front of the train to prevent them from proceeding. The city’s southern gates are held by the rioters, and they are reinforced hourly by agricultural labourers bent on making common cause with them. I tell you, signore, the situation is critical.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“The rioters will be masters of the city before another sunrise.”
Tarsis sprang up and began to pace the floor, but stopped suddenly, and, with a smile intended to be taken as one of amusement, said, “I think you are over-counting their strength.”