When the burgomaster saw his cap at his feet, he looked at the brute tamer with an air of stupefaction, as if he hesitated to believe so great an enormity.  Dagobert, regretting, his violence, and feeling that no means of conciliation note remained, threw a rapid glance around him, and, retreating several paces, gained the topmost steps of the staircase.  The burgomaster stood near the bench, in a corner of the landing-place, whilst Morok, with his arm in the sling, to give the more serious appearance to his wound, was close beside him.  “So!” cried the magistrate, deceived by the backward movement of Dagobert, “you think to escape, after daring to lift hand against me!—­Old villain!”

“Forgive me, Mr. Burgomaster!  It was a burst of rashness that I was not able to control.  I am sorry for it,” said Dagobert in a repentant voice, and hanging his head humbly.

“No pity for thee, rascal!  You would begin again to smooth me over with your coaxing ways, but I have penetrated your secret designs.  You are not what you appear to be, and there is perhaps an affair of state at the bottom of all this,” added the magistrate, in a very diplomatic tone.  “All means are alike to those who wish to set Europe in flames.”

“I am only a poor devil, Mr. Burgomaster; you, that have a good heart, will show me some mercy.”

“What! when you have pulled off my cap?”

“And you,” added the soldier, turning towards Morok, “you, that have been the cause of all this—­have same pity upon me—­do not bear malice!—­You, a holy man, speak a word in my favor to Mr. Burgomaster.”

“I have spoken to him what I was bound to speak,” answered the Prophet ironically.

“Oho! you can look foolish enough now, you old vagabond!  Did you think to impose on me with lamentations?” resumed the burgomaster, advancing towards Dagobert.  “Thanks be, I am no longer your dupe!—­You shall see that we have good dungeons at Leipsic for French agitators and female vagrants, for your damsels are no better than you are.  Come,” added he, puffing out his cheeks with an important air, “go down before me—­and as for you, Morok—­”

The burgomaster was unable to finish.  For some minutes Dagobert had only sought to gain time, and had cast many a side-glance at a half-open door on the landing-place, just opposite to the chamber occupied by the orphans:  finding the moment favorable, he now rushed quick as lightning on the burgomaster, seized him by the throat, and dashed him with such violence against the door in question, that the magistrate, stupefied by this sudden attack, and unable to speak a word or utter a cry, rolled over to the further end of the room, which was completely dark.  Then, turning towards Morok, who, with his arm encumbered by the sling, made a rush for the staircase, the soldier caught him by his long, streaming hair, pulled him back, clasped him with hands of iron, clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his outcries, and notwithstanding his desperate resistance, dragged him into the chamber, on the floor of which the burgomaster lay bruised and stunned.