"You do wrong. It is all the same to us who our sovereign may be; only let him be just towards us, and raise up our fallen people; but you will destroy your nation—its power, its influence, and privileges—merely that you may live in a country without a head."
A loud uproar interrupted the conversation. A disorderly troop of Wallachians approached the Decurio's house, triumphantly bearing the hussar's csako on a pole before them.
"Had I left you there last night, they would now have exhibited your head instead of your csako."
The crowd halted before the Decurio's window, greeting him with loud vociferations.
The Decurio spoke a few words in the Wallachian language, on which they replied more vehemently than before, at the same time thrusting forward the kalpag on the pole.
The Decurio turned hastily round. "Was your name written on your kalpag?" he asked the young man, in evident embarrassment.
"It was."
"Unhappy youth! The people, furious at not having found you, are determined to attack your father's house."
"And you will permit them?" asked the youth, starting from bed.
"I dare not contradict them, unless I would lose their confidence.
I can prevent nothing."