Mecsey and his confederates threw their caps high into the air, and yelled like madmen; the governor, deadly pale, stopped his reading and called to Von Theyer, who hastily mounted the platform; the infantry, waiting for orders, gripped their rifles with grim resolution; the hussars bared their swords and prepared for the word to charge.
Yet the people made no attempt at a rescue; only in one place they formed a lane along which a horseman galloped frantically amidst such a wild outburst of cheering as Arad never knew before or since.
During those few moments I must have suffered more agony than falls to the lot of many men in a lifetime.
Of what was happening I had not the slightest idea, only I saw Von Theyer return to his men, and heard his short, quick words of command.
At the same time the infantry faced about and presented a steel-girt barrier to the crowd.
Yet the cheering did not cease--it grew louder; and now we on the platform could hear such words as "The Kaiser! Long live Francis Josef! Long live the Kaiser!"
At the first sign of danger the soldiers on the platform surrounded me in a body, and the executioner was already arranging the noose when the horseman reached the line of infantry.
What he said I knew not, but those sturdy warriors opened their ranks. He dashed through, and when in the open space Von Theyer would have turned him back, he struck him from the saddle, at the same time shouting out something in a loud tone.
Springing to the ground, he left his horse with heaving flanks and spume-flaked nostrils, and scrambled up the wooden steps, crying aloud and waving a large white envelope.
As one in a dream I watched him approach the governor and hand him the mysterious missive.