_] Gottlieb, look at your wife. She's more pluck in her than
you. She's jumpin' about in front o' the bay'nets as if she was dancin'
to music.
[_Four men carry a wounded rioter through the entry-room. Silence,
which is broken by some one saying in a distinct voice,_ "It's weaver
Ulbrich." _Once more silence for a few seconds, when the same voice
is heard again:_ "It's all over with him; he's got a bullet in his
ear." _The men are heard climbing the wooden stair. Sudden shouting
outside:_ "Hurrah, hurrah!"
VOICES IN THE ENTRY-ROOM
"Where did they get the stones from?"--"Yes, it's time you were
off!"--"From the new road."--"Ta-ta, soldiers!"--"It's rainin'
paving-stones."
[_Shrieks of terror and loud roaring outside, taken up by those in
the entry-room. There is a cry of fear, and the house door is shut
with a bang._
VOICES IN THE ENTRY-ROOM
"They're loadin' again."--"They'll fire another volley this
minute."--"Father Hilse, get away from that window."
GOTTLIEB
[_Clutches the axe._] What! is we mad dogs? Is we to eat powder an' shot
now instead o' bread? [_Hesitating an instant to the old man._] Would you
have me sit here an' see my wife shot? Never! [_As he rushes out.
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