"Dear mother, I cannot! I am too miserable to pray. If Caspar were but here, I should feel less wretched."
"And yet, as a soldier of the imperial army, he is in less danger than he would be, as a civilian of Esslingen. I thank Heaven, dear Marie, that your betrothed is not here. At least he fights face to face, with arms in hand; while we—oh, what weapon can avail against midnight murder and incendiarism?"
"And yet," sighed Marie. "I would he were here to protect me!"
"He would not be allowed to protect you, for, had he seen the familiarity of that despot yesterday, he would in all probability have lost his life in your defence."
"I had not thought of that, I had only yearned for his protecting arm. Yes, mother, he would have done some desperate deed had he seen the blood-stained hand of that accursed Frenchman when it touched my cheek, and heard his insolent tones as he asked whether its roses were colored by nature or art. Oh, mother, what a misfortune for us that we were on the street when he arrived!"
Mother and daughter now relapsed into silence, for the deputies, their heads despondingly held down, were to be seen making their way through the crowd. Frau Wengelin could not articulate the words she longed to speak; hut Marie, clasping her hands in agony, cried out:
"He is not there! My father is missing!"
With one faint shriek, her mother fell senseless to the floor, while Marie, darting out of the house, made her way through the throng to the market-place, and overtook the deputies as they were ascending the steps that led to the hall of council. Grasping the arm of the first she encountered, she looked wildly into his eyes, while her quivering lips vainly tried to murmur, "Where is my father?"
The old man understood those pleading looks, and answered them with tears.
"Where is my father?" cried Marie, with the strength of her growing agony; and, as the deputy was still silent, the multitude around took up the young girl's words and shouted: "Where is her father? Tell us where is the Burgomaster Wengelin?"