Again the cheers rang out, and young Bernenstein sprang forward,
waving his helmet and crying like a man possessed, "God save the
king!" I was carried away by his enthusiasm and followed his
lead. All the people took up the cry with boundless fervor, and
thus we all, high and low in Strelsau, that afternoon hailed Mr.
Rassendyll for our king. There had been no such zeal since Henry
the Lion came back from his wars, a hundred and fifty years ago.
"And yet," observed old Helsing at my elbow, "agitators say that
there is no enthusiasm for the house of Elphberg!" He took a
pinch of snuff in scornful satisfaction.
Young Bernenstein interrupted his cheering with a short laugh,
but fell to his task again in a moment. I had recovered my senses
by now, and stood panting, looking down on the crowd. It was
growing dusk and the faces became blurred into a white sea. Yet
suddenly I seemed to discern one glaring up at me from the middle
of the crowd--the pale face of a man with a bandage about his
head. I caught Bernenstein's arm and whispered, "Bauer," pointing
with my finger where the face was. But, even as I pointed, it was
gone; though it seemed impossible for a man to move in that
press, yet it was gone.
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