I perceive a
glimmering there.'
'I read your fancy,' she returned. 'It is mere madness, midsummer
madness. Baron, I am more unpopular than he. You know it. They
can excuse, they can love, his weakness; but me, they hate.'
'Such is the gratitude of peoples,' said the Baron. 'But we trifle.
Here, madam, are my plain thoughts. The man who in the hour of
danger speaks of abdication is, for me, a venomous animal. I speak
with the bluntness of gravity, madam; this is no hour for mincing.
The coward, in a station of authority, is more dangerous than fire.
We dwell on a volcano; if this man can have his way, Grunewald
before a week will have been deluged with innocent blood. You know
the truth of what I say; we have looked unblenching into this ever-
possible catastrophe. To him it is nothing: he will abdicate!
Abdicate, just God! and this unhappy country committed to his
charge, and the lives of men and the honour of women . . .' His
voice appeared to fail him; in an instant he had conquered his
emotion and resumed: 'But you, madam, conceive more worthily of your
responsibilities. I am with you in the thought; and in the face of
the horrors that I see impending, I say, and your heart repeats it -
we have gone too far to pause. Honour, duty, ay, and the care of
our own lives, demand we should proceed.'
She was looking at him, her brow thoughtfully knitted.
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