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 dizzy height, and the music fell in with: “Where is our home?” The island shook to its foundation from the storm of applause and the cries of “Glory!” Kutzendorfer, the concert master, followed with: “Hej, Slavs, you ask, Moravian maid,”—and again there was a deafening noise and applause. Jiří, his face red, stepped down. The doctor embraced him and kissed him. Then came congratulations from all sides, drinking, and cries of: “Glory! Glory!” 'The blonde wife of the tax collector, congratulating him half comically, half seriously, patted his open hand with hers. Jiří seated himself near her.

Then the doctor arose. “Silence, silence!” was the cry. The doctor swung his glass and drank to Jiří. Again: “Glory!” The glasses clinked, and the music thundered a flourish. Jiří drank to the godmother of the banner.

Then a terrible furor rhetoricus (a specific Bohemian ailment) took possession of the