It was all very well to shout, "Down with royalty!" it was another matter to converse and shake bands with it.
"Hurrah!" shouted the vintner.

"Long live her highness! Down with Jugendheit!" There was a fine chorus.
And there was a fine tableau not down on the evening's program.

A police officer and three assistants came down the stairs quietly.
"Let no one leave this room!" the officer said sternly.
The dramatic pause was succeeded by a babel of confusion.

Chairs scraped, stems clattered, and the would-be liberators huddled together like so many sheep rounded up by a shepherd-dog.
"Ho, there! Stop him, you!" It was the vintner who caused this cry; and the agility with which he scrambled through the window into the blind alley was an inspiration.
"After him!" yelled the officer.

"He is probably the one rare bird in the bunch." But they searched in vain.
Gretchen stared ruefully at the blank window.
Somehow this flight pained her; somehow it gave her the heartache to learn that her idol was afraid of such a thing as a policeman.
"Out into the street, every mother's son of you!" cried the officer angrily to the quaking socialists.