Before Schönbrunn Palace Square, Adorno's chest pressed against a stranger's back, while a youth's thin shoulder was against his own.
Nearly twenty thousand people had gathered around them—at least, that was the number several officers outside the palace had mentioned while talking.
It made Adorno feel filled with strength, a strength that gave him the courage to challenge fate.
The people around him seemed to have shouted themselves hoarse and gradually fell silent. Yet amid the teeming crowd in the square, that silence was more unsettling than any roar.
Adorno raised his head to look at the lead-gray clouds overhead, then turned his gaze toward the balcony on the second floor of Schönbrunn Palace.
Four palace guards stood there, but the figure he wanted to see did not appear.
In fact, all twenty thousand people in the square were staring at that balcony.
They were twenty thousand people awaiting judgment, and at the same time, twenty thousand people taking part in passing it.
Yet Adorno had no idea how long they waited. Perhaps two hours, perhaps four. The sky had shifted from grayish white to dark gray, but the Emperor never showed himself.
At last, the door behind the balcony opened, but the one who came out was Count Salazar, the bloated man from before.
"His Majesty has received your petition," the palace steward's shrill voice drifted across the square. "He will consider it carefully! Go home, all of you, go home!"
He gestured toward the people below.
The palace gates were pushed open a crack, and dozens of servants filed out carrying huge baskets of bread.
More than a dozen maids grabbed the bread and handed it out to the protesters in a flurry.
The bread was white, with a layer of golden-brown crust. Adorno had never eaten bread