were flushed; his heart beat with such force that the veins in his temples seemed ready to burst; as he hurried along he gasped for breath.
As he entered the city hall, he realized that his mind was a blank. He had forgotten the questions he was to ask the accused—everything! What should he do? Would it be safe to confide in some one and seek help?
Mustering all his strength he made his way to his own office on the second floor. But he had hardly entered the room when he grew faint and staggered; letting fall the papers he carried he dropped into the chair that stood at his desk. He was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and a stream of blood issued from his mouth.
Just then Sykora entered the office. At sight of the adjutant he rushed back into the hall and gave the alarm. In a few moments the room was full of officers, attendants and policemen, who tried to revive the poor sufferer. A physician, who was in the building, examined the patient, gave some necessary remedies, and ordered him to be taken home.
Sykora's trial was postponed of course. Standing at the entrance to the city hall and gazing at the departing adjutant, who, deathly pale, was supported in the carriage by the physician, and accompanied by one of the officers, the laborer nodded his head and muttered:
"See, you were laying a trap for me and you fell into it yourself! You will never cross the threshold of this building again. For a while I was alone with you; I could have helped myself to those papers and planned my answers accordingly. I didn't do it, because I fear neither you nor your successor. Some of our own party would have to carry on the examination to know what to ask. You don't know how to do it!"
* * *
That night the green shaded lamp occupied its wonted place upon the table; its light was still seen from the windows opposite, but the bald head beneath it was missing. It had sunk deep into the pillows, whence it was not raised until the sixth day, when it was lifted up gently, and laid into the coffin. That night the lamp was not even lighted. With a trembling hand, Madam Sadovsky took it and set it upon the window sill. Its task was finished, like that of its master, behind whose poor head the weeping woman placed a tiny lamp of red glass.
On the day of the funeral, when the procession was passing the factory at lunch time, both Sykora and Hloucek were standing at the open door. Glancing at the plain yellow coffin followed by the widow and orphans, they gave each other a significant look, while Sykora asked:
"When the end comes what difference is there between the educated and the uneducated 'lower classes'?"
"None," replied Hloucek gravely.
"Why then do we persecute each other?"
"Go, ask that dead man yonder; he can tell you now."
