CHAPTER XXIX. — THE COMRADE OF HIS FOES
This bold declaration, boldly spoken, had the startling effect of a sudden and sharp flash of lightning in dense darkness. Amazement and utter stupefaction held every man for the moment paralysed. Had a volcano suddenly opened beneath their feet and belched forth its floods of fire and lava, it could not have rendered them more helplessly stricken and speechless.
“I am the King!”
The words appeared to blaze on the air before them,—like the handwriting on the wall at Belshazzar’s feast. The King! He,—their friend, their advocate, he—Pasquin Leroy,—the most obedient, the most daring and energetic of all the workers in their Cause—he—even he—was the King! Was it,—could it be possible! Their eyes—all riveted in fearful fascination upon him as he stood before them wholly at their mercy, but cool, dauntless, and smilingly ready to die,—had the wild uncomprehending stare of delirium;—the silence in the room was intense, breathless and terrible. Suddenly, like a lion roused, Sergius Thord, with a half-savage movement, sprang forward and seized him roughly by the arm.
“You,—you are the King?” he said; “You,—Pasquin Leroy?” and struggling for breath, his words almost choked him. “You! Enemy in the guise of friend! You have fooled us! You have deceived us—you—!”
“Take care, Sergius!” said the monarch smiling, as he gently disengaged himself from the fierce hand that clutched him; “This pistol is loaded,—not to shoot you with!—but myself!—at your command! It would be unfortunate if it went off and killed the wrong man by accident!”
His indomitable courage was irresistible; and Thord, relaxing his grasp, fell back in something like awe. And then the spell of horror and amazement that had struck the rest of the assemblage dumb, broke all at once into a sort of wild-beast clamour. Every man ‘rushed’ for the platform—and Max Graub and Axel Regor, taking swift and conscious possession of their true personalities as Professor von Glauben and Sir Roger de Launay, fought silently and determinedly to keep back the crowding hands that threatened instant violence to the person of their Royal master.
A complete hubbub and confusion reigned;—cries of “Traitor!” and “Spy!” were hurled from one voice to another; but before a single member of the Committee could reach the spot where stood the undaunted Sovereign whom they had so lately idolised as their friend and helper, and whom they were now ready to tear to pieces, Lotys flung herself in front of him, while at the same moment she snatched the pistol he held from his hand, and fired it harmlessly into the air. The loud report—the flash of fire,—startled all the men, who gaped upon her, thunderstruck.