swelling and growing to a thunderous roar.  Myriads of hats were
suddenly torn from the heads of the excited multitude, handkerchiefs
waved from every window.  It was a wonderful greeting, this. 

"The Czar on his way to the railway station," Bellamy remarked. 

The broad avenue was suddenly thronged with a mass of soldiery -
guardsmen of the most famous of Austrian regiments, brilliant in
their white uniforms, their flashing helmets.  The small brougham
with its great black horses was almost hidden within a ring of
naked steel.  Dorward, an American to the backbone and a bitter
democrat, thrust out his under-lip. 

"The Anointed of the Lord!" he muttered. 

Far away from some other quarter came the same roar of voices,
muffled yet insistent, charged with that faint, exciting timbre
which seems always to live in the cry of the multitude. 

"The Emperor," declared Bellamy.  "He goes to the West station."