“‘The more shame to her, then, for marrying him,’ said Gavrilo, with a shrug. ‘He is the spawn, of an autocrat who is in turn the spawn of generations of autocrats. Scratch them and they are all the same. They play the game of empire—the dirty game of holding together, against their will, the people of seven races in Austria-Hungary; grinding them down, humiliating them, keeping them afraid. No man, no group of men, should have such power! It is medieval, grotesque, wicked!’ “‘More than that,’ put in Mara, ‘it is unwise. They take a poor way to gain favor with us Serbs. For my part, I do not think it safe for the Archduke to come here.’ “‘And there, my _mila_,’ he declared, with a shrewd, sinister smile, ‘your judgment is perhaps better than even you yourself suppose. Myself, I doubt he will be fool enough to come. At the last we shall be informed, with a grand flourish, that he is ‘indisposed.’ Not sick, you understand. Royalties are never sick. It is not etiquette. Peasants are sick. The middle-classes are ill. The great are only indisposed. Anything else is vulgar. Well, I hope he will know enough to stay away. Otherwise he may indeed become indisposed after his arrival.’ “‘What do you mean, Gavrilo?’ I asked. “‘That the air of this place is not good for Austrian royalties just now,’ he said. ‘It is Serbian air. There are the germs of freedom in it, and such germs are more dangerous to autocrats than those of _kuga_,—cholera.’ “‘Be frank,’ I urged. ‘Do you mean that the Archduke’s life is threatened?’ “‘It is known,’ he replied, ‘that the governor has received warning letters. The Archduke is advised not to appear here on our holiday. One understands, moreover, that the Austrian secret police concur in this advice. Which shows that the filthy beasts are not so stupid as they might be.’ “‘Assure me, Gavrilo,’ Mara broke in, ‘that your _comitajia_ has nought to do with this threat!’ “‘Long ago,’ he answered ‘I promised you that while you love me I will not actively participate in anything violent. You may be sure, Maro, _mila_, that I shall keep my word.’ “‘You keep your word always,’ she replied, ‘but these threats disturb me and I gain comfort from your reassurances.’ “Gavrilo walked slowly over and looked into the bird cage. “‘You are certain, then, that you do requite my affection?’ he asked her over his shoulder. “‘You are well aware,’ she said, ‘that I worship you.’ “‘Would that I were as well aware of it,’ he returned, ‘as that I am nothing to be worshiped.’ Then after a pause he added: ‘If you do love me, why not release this poor bird? See how wretchedly it huddles. Its eyes are becoming dull. It will surely die. How can we Serbs talk of freedom for ourselves, yet hold this wild creature prisoner? And of all birds, a _kos_—the bird of Kossovo! Permit me to open the door of the cage, Maro. Let us celebrate the Serbian holiday by liberating the poor _kos_. _Shvabe_ cannot prevent that, with all their edicts.’