A moment later there were two, short, sharp explosions. Bombs. Then a great clatter of falling glass-- The King was up on his feet, in a moment. A great cry of horror went up from the immense crowd round the palace. The King took a step forward. Immediately half a dozen strong hands were laid upon him to hold him back. There, on the balcony, immediately in front of him, in the litter of broken glass from the huge windows, lay the Duke, motionless, at full length, bleeding from a dozen jagged wounds. A madness, a fury, which culminated in a passionate resentment of the hands that were holding him back, took possession of the King. Hardly knowing what he did, he struck out, right and left, savagely, viciously, with all his force. In a moment he was free-- He stepped out on to the balcony. Led by the tall, grey-haired physician, four or five of the Court officials followed him, hard on his heels, picked up the Duke, and carried him back into the safety of the little room within-- Down below in the quadrangle, another limp, huddled figure was being borne, hurriedly, and unceremoniously by red-coated soldiers, whose fixed bayonets caught the sun, in the direction of the guardroom, on the right. There was no life in that figure-- Beyond the palace railings, the maddened, infuriated crowd swayed to and fro in great billows of pent-up fury, an ocean of clamorous, tumultuous passion, striving to break its bounds, to the accompaniment of animal cries of anger, and the confused shouting of a thousand voices. The King took it all in at a glance. A sudden, strange calm, a sure, quiet confidence were with him now. The anger of the crowd was hideous, menacing. The line of the military, and the police, between the crowd and the palace tossed up and down, like a line of corks on a wild, tempestuous sea. At any moment, that line might break, and the infuriated mob would be let loose, with its madness, its lust for blood, its wild shouting for lynch law. Anything might happen, at any moment, unless something was done, and done quickly. And he was the man who must take action-- Without haste, surely, and skilfully, the King climbed on to the stone parapet of the balcony. Then he drew himself up to his full height, and held up his hand-- He had no fear. He knew no doubt. He had no anxiety. He knew what he had to do. This was his moment. He had found himself. Never again, it seemed to him, at the moment, would he know doubt, anxiety or fear-- For some time, the wild frenzy of the crowd, down below, beyond the palace railings continued unabated. Then some of the people caught sight of the bareheaded, slim, incredibly boyish figure, in the inconspicuous grey lounge suit, standing on his precarious, windswept perch, on the parapet of the balcony. Then others saw him. Slowly, the surge of the crowd slackened. Slowly, the pandemonium died down. At last, the tumult and the uproar gave place to a universal, joyous cry-- "The King! The King!"