“I see the esquire tarries,” said Lapushneanu, cutting short Motzoc, who was becoming involved in his speech. “I think we will give orders to fire a round into the mob. Ha! what think you?”
“Certainly, certainly, let us turn the guns on them; there is not much loss in a few hundred churls dying when so many boyars have perished. Yes, let us destroy them root and branch.”
“I expected just such an answer,” said Lapushneanu with irritation, “but we will see first what it is they ask.”
At that moment the esquire stepped through the door into the courtyard, and making a sign, cried:
“Good people! His Highness sends to inquire what it is you want and ask, and wherefore you are come with so much noise?”
The crowd stood open-mouthed. They had not expected such a question. They had come without knowing why, or what they wanted. They collected quietly into little groups and asked one another what it was they did want. At last they began to shout:
“Remit the taxes!” “Cease to harass us!” “Do not kill us!” “Do not rob us!” “We remain poor!” “We have no money!” “Motzoc has taken our all!” “Motzoc! Motzoc!” “He fleeces us and ruins us!” “He advises the Voda!” “Let him die!” “To death with Motzoc!” “We want the head of Motzoc!”
The last words found an echo in every heart, and were like an electric spark. All the voices rang together as one voice, and this voice cried:
“We ask for Motzoc’s head!”
“What do they ask for?” asked Lapushneanu, as the esquire entered.