CHAPTER LXXIII.
THE BLACK BROTH.
In a quarter of an hour they had reached the village. The same absence of all life struck painfully upon the emperor's heart as they walked along the deserted streets and heard nothing save the echo of their own footsteps. Not the lowing of a cow nor the bleating of a sheep, not one familiar rural sound broke the mournful stillness that brooded over the air. Occasionally a ghastly figure in tattered garments, from whose vacant eyes the light of reason seemed to have fled, was seen crouching at the door of a hut, wherein his wife and children were starving. This was the only token of life that greeted the eyes of the grave and silent pair.
"Lacy," at last sighed the emperor, "how fearful is this deadly silence! One might fancy that he walked in Pompeii; and Pompeii, alas, is not more lonely. To think that I, an emperor, must look on and give no help!"
"Oh, yes, sire, you can give help," said Lacy, encouragingly. "There must be some means by which this fearful famine can be arrested."
"I have ordered corn from Hungary, where the harvest has been abundant. To encourage the importation of grain in Bohemia, I have promised, besides good prices, a premium of one hundred guilders for each well-laden, four-horse wagon of grain that arrives before the expiration of three weeks."
"But the people will be exhausted before three weeks."
"I have also ordered the commissary store-houses to be opened in Prague, and the grain to be distributed."
"This will last but for a few days." returned Lacy, shaking his head.
"Then what can I do?" exclaimed the emperor, sorrowfully.