Now, Numa Pompilius, you have a fine field before you for the race of glory. Advance! put your ladders to the walls, hurl your beams against the foe, sling your stones against the roof, begin the struggle, and inspire the combatants with martial fury! Let shouts and yells and curses supply the place of thundering artillery! The enemy is aroused and expectant! "Forward, ye heroes! The hour of the red dawn of our day of triumph is at hand. Victory to the valiant!" The excited mob heard not a word of this classical appeal, its ears were too full of its own howlings, as it pressed into the courtyard. Then from that window square, which had remained uncovered by the shutter, a shot resounded, at whose sharp report the hideous hubbub suddenly grew dumb, and during the lull a strong manly voice addressed the rioters: "That was only a blank shot. If you do not instantly leave the courtyard we will fire among you with bullets." "Let us depart hence, my noble patriots, let us depart!" stammered the Leather-bell. "It is Squire Széphalmi who commands it. It is not well to play games with him. He has a lot of six-barrelled firearms inside with three bullets in each barrel. A mischief may befall some of us else. We have wives and children at home. Let us go home, my dear fellow patriots. Early to-morrow morning we will send a deputation." The greater part of the mob shared this good opinion, and began to show their respect for firearms by clearing out of the courtyard. But Numa Pompilius, full of the fury of despair, barred the way against his retreating host. "Miserable, cowardly deserters! What! a single blank shot is sufficient to turn you back! Holus-bolus, 'sicut examen apum,' ye decamp at the word of a single foe! Fie, fie upon you, ye dregs, ye sweepings of humanity!" The bellicose commander spat in his disgust at the fugitives again and again, and overwhelmed them with all sorts of choice epithets. Finally he snatched up an axe, and declared that if nobody else stirred he would go and batter down the door of the castle single-handed. But the Leather-bell threw his arms round the body of the enthusiastic hero lest he should hazard his life in so perilous an enterprise. Nay, he would not even let him enter the courtyard, but went so far as to seize the axe he held in his hand regardless of the kicks and cuffs he received during the struggle. Dame Zudár laughed scornfully at this tragicomical scene. "Why don't some other of you fellows hold him back too?" she cried. "He likes nothing better than not to be let go. Don't you see what a business he makes of it to rid himself of that feeble old man, whom he could throw to the ground with half a hand if he had a mind to. Get out of my way, will you? Men are out of place in a joke of this sort. My mother was a witch and I'm one also. Do you know that I can open every door before you with a single word. All you have got to do is to sharpen your knives."