"Here we don't enact farces, but sit in judgment," answered the pastor.
Boleslav shrugged his shoulders. "I am pleased to hear it," he said, and there was a tremor in his voice.
The Schrandeners craned their necks to get a better view of the edifying scene, of which they now expected to be spectators. In the momentary calm that ensued, distant whoops and yells were heard from the crowds who filled the square, having stormed the inn in vain, and with the noise there seemed to mingle a woman's voice crying for succour.
What if it were Regina? But it was not possible that it could be she; and the idea vanished as quickly as it had flashed into his brain.
"My child, my poor wretched child!" howled the carpenter, who now found himself in more familiar waters.
"What have they done to your child, man?" asked the Landrath, who was not going to tolerate the conduct of affairs being taken out of his hands.
"My child was seduced--he ruined her--my fatherly heart is ... lacerated ... I am a poor beg--gar ... Only one coffin----"
"I fancy I have heard you harp on this string before," the Landrath interrupted him sharply, "at the time when I examined your daughter about the Cats' Bridge disaster. If you haven't learnt anything a little newer than that in five years, you'd better hold your tongue. It seems," he said, turning with a smile to the pastor, "as if this ruffian were bent on playing the part of Virginius."
The little man in grey laughed shrilly at this facetious sally on the part of his chief, and then was overcome with confusion at his own timerity. But the old pastor was less disposed to appreciate the Landrath's urbane humour.
"I will speak for you, Hackelberg," he said. "My words must be taken seriously. I will speak for you and for all of us in the name of our Heavenly Father, whose commandments were not made to be flouted and set at nought by aristocrats. Freiherr von Schranden, just now you challenged me to speak. Will you listen to what I am going to say?"