“We have nothing to say to each other,” answered Ebenstreit, calmly.
“But I!” cried Moritz, springing forward, furious as a lion, “I have something to say to you, you rascal, and I will treat you accordingly!”
He savagely tore the whip from the postilion’s hand, and struck Ebenstreit in the face. “Now,” cried he, triumphantly, “I have forced you to give me satisfaction!”
The police swung themselves from their saddles, and Leberecht quickly dismounted. They clinched Moritz by the feet and hands. It was a desperate struggle, and Marie gazed at them with folded hands, praying without words. They seized him and held him fast with manacles. A shriek, and Marie sank fainting. Moritz’s head sank upon his breast, almost in the agony of death.
“Take him to the next station, my friends,” commanded Ebenstreit, “the carriage is already ordered to remove him to Spandau.” He dismounted, and now took the place by Marie, who still lay in a dead faint. “Postilion, mount and turn your carriage, I retain you until the next station. If you drive quickly, there is a louis d’or for you.”
“I will drive as if the devil were after me, sir!” shouted the postilion, and turned to gallop off, when Ebenstreit ordered him to halt, and Leberecht to get up on the box. Then turning to the officers, “Gentlemen,” said he, proudly, “you are witnesses to the ill-treatment and insults of this woman-stealer. You will certify that the blood flowed down my face.”
“I will myself make it known before all men,” cried Moritz, with a contemptuous laugh. “I have insulted you and branded you.”
“We will give our evidence,” respectfully replied the officers. “As soon as we have delivered our prisoner at Spandau, we will announce ourselves to you.”
“Then you will receive from me the promised reward of a hundred thalers. If you hush up the entire adventure, so that it is not noised about, after three months, still another hundred.”
“We will be silent, Herr Ebenstreit.”