“The police have not given way?” cried Danaë in disgust.
“No, lady, but the chief of police fears to act without orders, and is keeping his men in reserve. His Highness’s hand has always been heavy on those who acted without his leave, and now it is said that he is dead.”
“That is not true. He is alive and doing well, and has appointed me to represent him. What is the fighting about?”
“I know not, lady, and I doubt whether the mob know themselves. Some are crying one thing and some another, but those who are threatening the Police Bureau have a red flag, and are calling out for a revolution.”
“Can you get to the Police Bureau from the back?”
“Yes, my lady; through by-lanes.”
“Then go, and tell the chief of police to march his men into the thickest of the crowd when we enter from the two opposite corners of the square. That will separate them and force them down the side streets.”
She looked round, and saw that her strategy was approved. Only one of the officers seemed to have something to suggest, and she glanced towards him.
“The machine-guns, lady?” he ventured.
“To be sure. We will fetch them,” said Danaë, but her troops were evidently waiting for a word of command. In despair, she turned to the officer who had spoken, and made a shot—happily a successful one—at his rank. “Captain, I appoint you my aide-de-camp. You will ride beside me, if you please, and transmit my words, lest my voice should not reach the men.”