cease his tone of persiflage and also
with a glance restrained his equerries, who had listened to Zanti's
oracular utterances in speechless indignation: the old man had addressed
Othomar almost in a whisper. His last words, however, which resounded
with emotion, changed this indignation into bewilderment, calmed their
anger, made them regard the prophet as half a madman, whose treason the
crown-prince was graciously pleased to excuse. And the officers looked
at one another, raised their eyebrows, shrugged their shoulders. Dutri
grinned. Othomar asked Zanti coolly whether they had not better proceed.

The settlement was very much in its first stage; yet a few farm-houses
were beginning to rise up, chestnut-trees lay felled, hundreds of
peasants were busily working.

The group of officers excited great curiosity; the princes had been
recognized. On almost every side the people stopped work, followed the
uniforms with their eyes.

The princes and their suite felt instinctively that a hostile feeling
was passing through Zanti's peasants. When they asked a question here
and there about the sufferings experienced, the answer sounded curt and
rough, with a reference to the will of God, and was always like an echo
of Zanti's own words. Pecuniary assistance seemed uncalled for. And
Zanti had really nothing to show. The settlement made a poor impression
on Othomar, perhaps because of a sort of mortified sovereignty. He was
accustomed always to be approached with respect, as a future majesty;
and his sensitiveness was more deeply wounded by Zanti's bluntness, by
the surliness of Zanti's peasants, than he himself was willing to admit.
He felt that at this spot they saw in him not the crown-prince who loved
his people and wanted to learn how to succour them, but the son of a
tyrant, who would act as a tyrant also when his turn came. He felt that,
though Zanti called himself the apostle of peace, this peace was not in
his disciples; and, when he looked into their rough, sullen faces, he
saw hatred gleam luridly from deep, hollow eyes, as with sudden
lightning-flashes....

The weight of it all fell heavily upon his chest; his impotence pressed
with a world of inconsolable misery and unappeasable grief upon his
shoulders, as though to bear him to the ground. It was the misery and
grief not of one, but of thousands, millions. Vindictive eyes multiplied
themselves around him in a ferment of hatred; each one of his people who
asked ha