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Bang goes barrel number two, and the ball goes into the turf between his feet. "You will shoot yourself soon, at that rate," says Tom. "So? Der Herr speaks German like a native," says the gendarme, growing complimentary in his perplexity. "Perhaps der Herr would be so good as to carry his death-instruments himself, and attend on the Herr Polizeirath, who is waiting to see him." "By all means!"
The Polizeirath looks at him with much the same blank astonishment as the gendarme had done; and at last ends by lifting up his hands, and bursting into an enormous German laugh; and no one on earth can laugh as a German can, so genially and lovingly, and with such intense self-enjoyment. "Oh, you English! you English! You are all mad, I think! Nothing can shame you, and nothing can frighten you!
He is lecturing the Bursch, who looks sufficiently foolish. The other is a portly and awful-looking personage in uniform, evidently the Polizeirath of those parts, armed with the just terrors of the law: but Justice has, if not her eyes bandaged, at least her hands tied; for on his arm hangs Sabina, smiling, chatting, entreating. The Polizeirath smiles, bows, ogles, evidently a willing captive.
Potz! I believe when your Guards at Alma walked into that battery the other day, every one of them was whistling your Jim Crow, even after he was shot dead!" And the jolly Polizeirath laughed at his own joke, till the mountain rang. "But you must leave the country, sir; indeed you must. We cannot permit such conduct here I am very sorry." "I entreat you not to apologise, sir.
Ah, poor Queen Victoria! What a lot! To have the government of five-and-twenty million such!" "Not five-and-twenty millions," says Sabina. "That would include the ladies; and we are not mad too, surely, your Excellency?" The Polizeirath likes to be called your Excellency, of course, or any other mighty title which does or does not belong to him; and that Sabina knows full well.
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