A low murmur rose from the people. Buckhurst swept the throng with colorless eyes.
“Under the commune we will have peace. Why? Because there can be no hunger, no distress, no homeless ones where the wealth of all is distributed equally. We will have no wars, because there will be nothing to fight for. We will have no aristocrats where all must labor for the common good; where all land is equally divided; where love, equality, and brotherhood are the only laws—”
“Where’s the mayor?” I whispered to Eyre.
“In his house; Speed is with him.”
“Come on, then,” I said, pushing my way around the outskirts of the crowd to the mayor’s house.
The door was shut and the blinds drawn, but a knock brought Speed to the door, revolver in hand.
“Oh,” he said, grimly, “it’s time you arrived. Come in.”
The mayor was lying in his arm-chair, frightened, sulky, obstinate, his fat form swathed in a red sash.
“O-ho!” I said, sharply, “so you already wear the colors of the revolution, do you?”
“Dame, they tied it over my waistcoat,” he said, “and there are no gendarmes to help me arrest them—”