Zabern adopted the President's first alternative, and read the entire article, which, although written in guarded language, with a view of preserving its author from the possibilities of legal indictment, was obviously a plea for the assassination of rulers who have become obnoxious to their subjects.
At the conclusion of the marshal's reading, there was a storm of hisses from the Right. The Left sat in sullen silence.
"It is known to all that on coming to the throne the princess, with one stroke of her pen, abolished the censorship of the press. And this," continued Zabern, pointing to the criminatory article in the "Kolokol,"—"this is how the privilege has been requited! Such, gentlemen of the Diet, such are the sentiments—such is the character of the deputy for Russograd! And yet this teacher of assassination has the effrontery to come forward and solicit the votes of the Poles—the Poles, who, whatever may be their faults, are at least men of honor, and loyal to their princess. Vote for this bill? Not if it were the finest piece of legislation ever devised by the wit of statesmen. Those who can may separate the man from his bill; for my part, the two are identical. Every suffrage cast on the side of Lipski, every vote given in favor of this bill, is a vote in favor of assassination."
"No, no," cried the Left. "We are not assassins."
"That statement shall be proved by your votes. Let those who repudiate the work of the assassin, let those who rejoice at the escape of the princess from death, show their sympathy by rejecting a bill which is hurtful to the best feelings of the princess."
And now ensued a dramatic tableau pre-arranged by the wily Zabern. A small door opened upon the right of the presidential chair, and Barbara herself entered the hall of debate, to the utter confounding of the deputies, whose first thought was that she had come to dissolve the Diet.
Brunowski immediately vacated his chair in favor of the princess, who took her place on the dais, but remained standing. Her mien, graceful and bright, offered a pleasing contrast to that of the angry debaters. Even the Muscovites were forced to admit that if beauty of person should entitle one to a crown, their princess would have carried off all the diadems of Europe.
The silence that came over the chamber caused the din of voices in the square to be much more plainly heard. The tumultuous sounds without lent additional excitement to the scene within.
The princess glanced slowly around the assembly, and then, as if moved by a sudden idea, she removed her hat,—the same hat that she had worn on her return from the review. In the act of taking it off the light from behind gleamed through a hole in the brim, a mute appeal to the sympathy of the House, the more striking because unintentional.
"Your Highness, do not uncover," cried Brunowski.