But before he had finished, he spoke to emptiness: the secretary had fled. He looked out into the ante-chamber. All the others had fled with him. Outside the crowd was howling like a pack of wolves. Mr. Trimblerigg sighed: ‘Then I must do it all by myself,’ he concluded thoughtfully. ‘Deserted of my followers, I stand alone. No matter; they shall see!’ He felt that he was a great man, and this a great occasion for making the fact known. He went out from his study into the Council Chamber, a handsome apartment hung with mirrors. It had four windows overlooking the street, windows that went down to the ground and opened upon a balcony supported by a colonnade extending from the entrance-porch to right and left. I have never admired Mr. Trimblerigg more than I did at that moment; as he crossed the open space before him he paused to glance at himself in one of the mirrors: his light had not failed him; its radiance was undiminished; in the midst of it his countenance shone cherubic and hopeful. He was going to enjoy himself; for of all whose fortunes depended on the breath of popular applause there was no one who understood a crowd as he did. That this one was now hostile only added to the zest with which he faced the task that lay before him. Standing back in the deep interior of the room and where he could not be seen, he studied its physiognomy--a sea of faces in storm, multitudinous but yet one. He looked at it with affection and pride; for in another minute he was going to take and turn it round his finger, and make it into a new instrument to suit his need. Suddenly, while he so stood, the very window-pane through which he looked fell into splinters; from the crystal chandelier above his head came a rain of shattered glass. That was the prelude; he stepped back, and skirting the wall, while all the other panes flew into fragments, reached the far window, in which by that time not a pane remained unbroken. He only paused to fasten the last button of the morning coat into which he had tactfully changed; and then, lightly embraced by the civilization he had come to save, he opened the window and stepped out. For one moment the crowd, shocked into mute amaze, stood and gaped; then a roar of execration filled the air. Even the bright manifestation of his mission, which had once awed and delighted, failed to placate them now. Mr. Trimblerigg knew enough of crowds to admit that his secretary was right; this crowd was dangerous; but he knew also that he had only to get them to listen, to hear his opening words, for his spell to be on them. He could trust the inspiration of the moment to do the rest. And so, with exactly the right emotional expression upon his face, he leaned out from the stone balustrade, and over the heads of the crowd pointed into the distance.