A voice shouted out, sobbing with rage and pain:
“You are not Maria—!”
The multitude turned around. The multitude saw a man standing in the background of the arch, a man, from whose shoulders the coat had fallen. Under the coat he wore the white silk. The man was more ghastly to see than one who has bled to death. He stretched out his hand and pointed to the girl. He yelled out:
“You are not Maria!! No—!! You are not Maria—!!”
The heads of the multitude stared at the man who was a stranger among them, who wore the white silk....
“You are not Maria—!” he yelled. “Maria preaches peace—and not murder—!”
The eyes of the multitude began to glare dangerously.
The girl stood bolt upright in the neck of the multitude. She began to totter. It seemed as though she would fall—fall over on to her white face in which the blood-red mouth—the mouth of deadly sin, flamed like hell-fire.
But she did not fall. She held herself upright. She swayed slightly, but she held herself upright. She stretched out her arm and pointed at Freder, calling in a voice which sounded like glass:
“Look—! Look—! The son of Joh Fredersen—! The son of Joh Fredersen is among you—!”