every line the voices grew fewer and fewer, so that at last my dear old uncle Bräsig was the only one who still held up his book and sang, the tears rolling down his cheeks the while; but when he reached the line in which liars were denounced, he could go on no longer.--"Liars?"--Ah they were all liars, false to their convictions.--Everyone rose from table feeling rather uncomfortable, and Bräsig crept away into a corner to hide his vexation. The young people began to dance again, and David and Slus'uhr retired to an anteroom where they drank champagne and laughed at uncle Bräsig. After a time Schulz the carpenter came to Bräsig, and said: "Do you know, sir, that Attorney Slus'uhr and David are sitting with some other men in 'number 3' making game of you, and dragging in all sorts of political allusions. The attorney said just now that if the French found it difficult to get a king to rule over them, now that they've got rid of Louis Philippe, they couldn't do better than choose you, for you had nothing to do, and so had plenty of time to devote to the business of governing them."--"Did he really say that?" asked uncle Bräsig rising indignantly. "Yes he did," replied Schulz. "And he is in 'number 3,' here at Grammelin's?"--"Yes."--"Come away with me, Mr. Schulz." Bräsig was hurt and angry that the fraternity ball from which he had hoped so much for humanity had come to nothing. He felt like the patriarch Abraham when he was about to offer his darling son as a sacrifice. He was going to have slipped away home quietly, when he beheld a scapegoat on which he might pour forth his wrath, the very one he would have chosen next to his old enemy Pomuchelskopp. "Come away with me, Mr. Schulz," he said walking energetically across the room to the cloak room where he had left his hat and black thorn walking-stick. He left the hat where it was, and picking up the stick, went to "number 3."