Again the mob showed signs of uneasiness. Its foremost ranks pressed back on the others, as if to fly from the vengeance of the wrathful man who had addressed them in words of such burning indignation. Again from the neighbourhood of the window came hoarse, stuttering laughter that was choked off as before.
The occupants of the best parlour made an effort to appear as if they had not been listening to Boleslav. The Landrath, who was really painfully affected, busied himself with more zeal than ever in looking through his papers. Old Merckel had picked up the discarded cross, and was trying to persuade his son, who resisted sulkily, to wear it again. The little man in grey had come out from under the table, and was employing himself in carefully rubbing dust off his knees. Only the old pastor was on the alert. He had propped his stick against the table; the thin white hair that floated round his bald skull quivered. He stood looking, with his vulture profile, and small eyes flashing beneath his sharply projecting brows, like a bird of prey waiting to pounce on its booty.
Had Boleslav caught sight of him at that moment, he might have hesitated to make a fresh challenge. But he wanted to score all along the line and complete his victory.
"In order that there may be a clear understanding between us," he cried, "that all may see who has right on his side and who wrong, I ask, which of you has a charge to prefer against me? To whom have I done an injury? How have I sinned?"
Then the voice of the old pastor was raised behind him. "Is Hackelberg, the carpenter, here?"
Boleslav winced. That voice so close to his ear sounded intimidating and uncanny, and prophetic of coming evil. There was a scuffling and swaying in the crowd. The ragged figure of the village drunkard, by means of shoves and kicks, was propelled forward into the front row. He struggled and beat the air with his hands, and when forced on to the threshold of the inner parlour, tried to duck beneath the legs of the men on either side of him.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Hackelberg," said the pastor. "I will see that you are not hurt."
Reassured, he drew himself up, and scanned the gentlemen he had been brought before with a suspicious, glassy eye.