“What!—­you dare to say,” cried the burgomaster, stammering with rage, “that if I happen to mention two adventuresses—­”

“Hats off!—­when you speak of the daughters of the Duke of Ligny,” cried the soldier, snatching the cap of the burgomaster and flinging it on the ground.  On this act of aggression, Morok could not restrain his joy.  Exasperated and losing all hope, Dagobert had at length yielded to the violence of his anger, after struggling so painfully against it for some hours.

When the burgomaster saw his cap at his feet, he looked at the brute tamer with an air of stupefaction, as if he hesitated to believe so great an enormity.  Dagobert, regretting, his violence, and feeling that no means of conciliation note remained, threw a rapid glance around him, and, retreating several paces, gained the topmost steps of the staircase.  The burgomaster stood near the bench, in a corner of the landing-place, whilst Morok, with his arm in the sling, to give the more serious appearance to his wound, was close beside him.  “So!” cried the magistrate, deceived by the backward movement of Dagobert, “you think to escape, after daring to lift hand against me!—­Old villain!”

“Forgive me, Mr. Burgomaster!  It was a burst of rashness that I was not able to control.  I am sorry for it,” said Dagobert in a repentant voice, and hanging his head humbly.

“No pity for thee, rascal!  You would begin again to smooth me over with your coaxing ways, but I have penetrated your secret designs.  You are not what you appear to be, and there is perhaps an affair of state at the bottom of all this,” added the magistrate, in a very diplomatic tone.  “All means are alike to those who wish to set Europe in flames.”

“I am only a poor devil, Mr. Burgomaster; you, that have a good heart, will show me some mercy.”

“What! when you have pulled off my cap?”

“And you,” added the soldier, turning towards Morok, “you, that have been the cause of all this—­have same pity upon me—­do not bear malice!—­You, a holy man, speak a word in my favor to Mr. Burgomaster.”

“I have spoken to him what I was bound to speak,” answered the Prophet ironically.

“Oho! you can look foolish enough now, you old vagabond!  Did you think to impose on me with lamentations?” resumed the burgomaster, advancing towards Dagobert.  “Thanks be, I am no longer your dupe!—­You shall see that we have good dungeons at Leipsic for French agitators and female vagrants, for your damsels are no better than you are.  Come,” added he, puffing out his cheeks with an important air, “go down before me—­and as for you, Morok—­”