He could proceed no farther. Standing there, pale and determined, he was
simply stormed down. His ignorance of affairs, of which on several
occasions the merchant himself had complained, led him quite
unconsciously to touch the pride of his hearers. It was John Gensbein
who angrily gave expression to the sentiment of the meeting.

"To what class do _you_ belong, I should like to know? Do you claim
affinity with the merchant class? If you do, you are no leader of ours.
I inform you, sir, that we are skilled artisans, with the craft to turn
out creditable work, while the merchants are merely the vendors of our
products. Which, therefore, takes the higher place in a community, and
which deserves it better: he who with artistic instinct unites the
efforts of brain and hand to produce wares that are at once beautiful
and useful, or he who merely chaffers over his counter to get as much
lucre as he can for the creations that come from our benches?"

To Roland's aristocratic mind, every man who lacked noble blood in his
veins stood on the same level, and it astonished him that any mere
plebeian should claim precedence over another. He himself felt
immeasurably superior to those present, sensible of a fathomless gulf
between him and them, which he, in his condescension, might cross as
suited his whim, but over which none might follow him back again; and
this, he was well aware, they would be the first to admit did they but
know his actual rank.

For a moment he was tempted to acknowledge his identity, and crush them
by throwing the crown at their heads, but some hitherto undiscovered
stubbornness in his nature asserted itself, arousing a determination to
stand or fall by whatever strength of character he might possess.