Sebastian's attitude, his bow, his manner of drinking, were those of
the Court; Barlasch was distinctly of the camp. But these were
strange days, and all society had been turned topsy-turvy by one
man.
"Then," said Barlasch, licking his lips, "let us understand one
another. You say there will be no siege. I say you are wrong. You
think that the Dantzigers will rise in answer to the Emperor
Alexander's proclamations, and turn the French out. I say the
Dantzigers' stomachs are too big. I say that Rapp will hold
Dantzig, and that the Russians will not take it by storm, because
they are too weak. There will be a siege, and a long one. Are you
and Mademoiselle and I going to sit it out in the Frauengasse
together?"
"We shall be honoured to have you as our guest," answered Sebastian,
with that levity which went before the Revolution, and was never
understood of the people.
Barlasch did not understand it. He glanced doubtfully at his
companion, and sipped his beer.
"Then I will begin to-night."
"Begin what, my friend?"
Barlasch waved aside all petty detail.
"My preparations. I go out about ten o'clock--after you are in. I
will take the key of the front door, and let myself in when I come
back. I shall make two journeys. Under the kitchen floor is a
large hollow space. I fill that with bags of corn."
"But where will you get the corn, my friend?"
"I know where to get it--corn and other things.
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