At this moment, shrieks of terror and loud supplications, mingled with violent and threatening voices, and words of military command were heard outside.
The men turned anxiously around, and beheld with dismay that the staircase, which only a few minutes ago was crowded with people, was now entirely deserted.
Suddenly, however, two men appeared on the landing, who were little calculated to allay the apprehensions of the rioters, for they wore the uniform of that dreaded and inexorable police who, under Thugut’s administration, had inaugurated a perfect reign of terror in Vienna.
The two officers approached the door of the anteroom, where they were met by Germain, the footman, who conversed with them in a whisper. Germain then hastened back to the door of the dining-room and walked in, scarcely deigning to cast a contemptuous glance on the dismayed rioters.
“Well, what is it?” asked Thugut.
“Your excellency, the chief of police sends word that his men are posted at all the doors of the palace, and will prevent anybody from getting out. He has cleared the streets, besides, and dispersed the rioters. The chief of police, who is in the hall below, where he is engaged in taking down the names of the criminals who are yet in the house, asks for your excellency’s further orders.”
“Ah, he does not suspect that his own chief, the minister of police is present,” said Thugut, turning with a smile to Count Saurau, who, being condemned to witness this scene in the capacity of an idle and passive spectator, had withdrawn into a bay-window, where he had quietly listened to the whole proceedings.
“My dear count, will you permit the chief of police to come here and report to yourself?” asked Thugut.
“I pray you to give him this permission,” replied the count, approaching his colleague.
Germain hastened back to the policemen in the anteroom.