There was indeed something menacing in the attitude of the audience; here and there small groups might be observed, sitting together, prepared for a common task. The parties measured one another with hostile glances, with defiant countenances. Lieutenant Buschmann sat in a stage-box and examined his faithful adherents under the chandelier, gathered there like a dense dark cloud. Here and there appeared a noncommissioned officer, who should evidently preserve intact the communications between the separate troops, although he might not take part personally in the intended salvo. The Lieutenant was annoyed to perceive the long, thin figure of Merchant Böller in the opposite stage-box, where he had placed a few large bouquets of flowers upon the balustrade, and with yet greater displeasure he saw that his former friend and companion appeared in the pit, and greeted a number of young merchants with a friendly shake of the hand. Those, then, were the opponents! It appeared to be a fine corps, well organised; the powerful shake of the hand promised vigorous work; bright confidence of success was depicted upon every feature. "This miserable Brackenburg," muttered Buschmann to himself, "Clärchen has long since sacrificed him to her Egmont, and he still runs about the market and mobilises the citizens. Well, the iron tread of my Spaniards will pass implacably over them." His confidence in the success of the good cause which he represented suddenly increased, when a noisy human stream suddenly poured into the pit, Spiegeler, in front, stamping with his crutches, eager for the fight. Ah, that was Blücher at Waterloo! Now the victory was decided, those were veteran troops which he led, accustomed to the battle-fire of a theatre, accustomed to obey the leader's signal, to work together in irresistible onslaught, obstinate and tough enough to overcome all resistance. That was the select battalion of the _claque_ which understood how to raise the flag of fame on high, but also how to tear it down and trample it in the dust. Buschmann's features became radiant. What could Böller's volunteers, with their undisciplined enthusiasm do against these well trained troops, which could stand immovably under fire? In the densely crowded pit, however, Spiegeler at once recognised an enemy in his immediate vicinity--the singer's friend, the repulsive Italian, who had given him a palpable proof of this friendship. Despite all menaces, the critic had not brought the affair into court, because he did not wish that the episode at the "fleck" boiler's, by means of a trial and newspapers, should become too generally known; he believed rightly that his position as a critic might suffer if people learned what species of anti-criticism had been his portion. But secretly he brooded upon revenge.