Thugut laughed. “Compel ME!” said he, laconically.
At that moment the mob yelled louder than ever, and the shout—“Peace! we want peace!” shook the windows.
Simultaneously the furious blows against the front door redoubled in violence.
“Assuredly, I cannot stand this any longer!” exclaimed the police minister, perfectly beside himself. “I ought not to listen quietly to this outrage.”
“No,” said Thugut, very quietly, “we won’t listen to it any longer. This is my breakfast-hour, and I invite you to be my guest. Come, let us go to the dining-room.”
He took the count’s arm, and proceeded with him to the adjoining room. Breakfast for eight persons was served in this room, for Baron Thugut was in the habit of keeping every day open table for seven uninvited guests, and his intimate acquaintances, as well as his special favorites, never failed to call on the minister at least once a week during his well-known breakfast and dinner hours.
To-day, however, the minister’s rapid and inquisitive glances did not discover a single guest. Nobody was in the room except the eight foot-men who stood behind the chairs. Well aware of their master’s stern and indomitable spirit, they occupied their usual places, but their faces were very pale, and their eyes turned with an expression of extreme anxiety toward the windows which, just then, trembled again under the heavy, thundering blows levelled at the front door.
“Cowards!” muttered Thugut, while walking to his chair at the upper end of the table and beckoning Count Saurau to take a seat at his side.
At this moment, however, the door was hastily opened, and the steward, pale and with distorted features, rushed into the room.