"Oh, my God, this woman will die before we can succor her!" exclaimed the young man, sorrowfully. "Hasten; Lacy, and bring me some wine."
"We have none," replied Lacy. "Your majesty gave away your last bottle in the village behind."
"But she will die!" exclaimed the emperor, as bending over the poor old woman, he took her skinny hand in his.
"We must die," murmured she, while her parched tongue protruded from her mouth.
"Sire, you are in danger," whispered Lacy,
"Rise, your majesty," interrupted Rosenberg, "these unhappy people have the typhus that accompanies starvation, and it is contagious."
"Contagious for those who hunger, but not for us," replied Joseph. "Oh, my friends," continued he, "see here are three generations all dying for want of food. Gracious Heaven! They have lost all resemblance to humanity. Hunger has likened them to animals. Oh, it is dreadful to think that a crust of bread or a sip of wine might awaken these suffering creatures to reason; but flour and grain can be of no avail here!"
"They may avail elsewhere, sire," said Rosenberg, "and if we can do nothing for these, let us go on and help others."
"It is fearful," said the emperor, "but I will not leave until I have made an effort to save them."
He signed to one of his outriders, and taking out a leaf of his pocket-book, wrote something upon it. "Gallop for your life to Prague," said he, "and give this paper to the lord steward of the palace. He must at once send a wagon hither, laden with food and wine, and that he may be able to do it without delay, tell him to take the stores from the palace and all the viands that are preparing in the kitchen for my reception. This paper will be your warrant. As soon as you shall have delivered your message, fill a portmanteau with old Hungarian wine and gallop back to me. Be here within two hours, if you kill two of my best horses to compass the distance."