"Will you print this proclamation, you miserable coward? Why, you have not pluck enough to be a German! I ask you, for the last time, will you print the proclamation?"
"Sir, have mercy upon me!" wailed M. Hormuth, in a terrified tone. "I cannot print it. It is impossible, sir; impossible!"
"You villain, I will kill you on the spot if you dare resist me," cried Schill. "I—"
"My compositors will be here presently," said M. Hormuth. "Please go on in the same strain."
"I will shoot you like a dog if you do not obey!"
"Help! help! oh, major, have mercy!"
The doors opened, and there appeared at one door the compositors and pressmen; at the other, Madame Hormuth with her children.
"Will you print my proclamation, you infamous scoundrel?" shouted Schill. "Say no, and I will put a bullet through your cowardly heart!"
"Sir, I cannot; I—"
"Husband, I beseech you!" cried Madame Hormuth, rushing toward him. "Husband, consider what you are doing; think of your children, think of me, and comply with the wishes of the major."