[12] As the word “Mississippi” sounded to the French ear.
[13]
Behold Pierrot suspendered,
Who has not his Latin rendered.
But ’twas otherwisely fated:
Pierrot was the one translated.
THE DEAN’S WATCH
BY ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN
[Illustration]
_Émile Erckmann, born 1822, died 1899, and Alexandre
Chatrian, born 1826, died 1890, natives of Alsace-Lorraine,
formed a literary partnership in 1847 and wrote many charming
novels and plays, such as “The Famous Doctor Mathéus,”
followed by “L’ami Fritz” (the source of Mascagni’s opera of
the same name). All these, appearing under the signature of
Erckmann-Chatrian, were supposed to be the productions of a
single writer until 1863, when the collaboration was announced.
It is said that their first stories were rejected by all the
newspapers of Paris. This combined authorship has produced
a style noted for its familiar, picturesque simplicity, its
candor and hearty good-fellowship, and its democratic feeling.
They have been accused of warring against war and thus
weakening patriotism, but it is only against those wars raised
by despots in endeavoring to choke the development of political
liberty._
[Illustration]
THE DEAN’S WATCH
BY ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN
Translated by Ralph Browning Fiske.
Copyright, 1897, by The Current Literature Publishing Company.
I
On the day before Christmas of the year 1832, my friend Wilfred, with
his double-bass slung over his back, and I, with my violin under my
arm, started to walk from the Black Forest to Heidelberg. It was
unusually snowy weather; as far as we could see across the great,
deserted plain, there was no trace of road nor path. The wind kept
up its harsh aria with monotonous persistency, and Wilfred, with his
flattened wallet at his belt, and the vizor of his cap drawn over his
eyes, moved on before me, straddling the drifts with his long, heron
legs, and whistling a gay tune to keep up his spirits. Now and then,
he would turn around with a waggish smile, and cry: “Comrade, let’s
have the waltz from ‘Robin,’ I feel like dancing.” A burst of laughter
followed these words, and then the good fellow would resume his march
courageously. I followed on as well as I could, up to my knees in snow,
and I felt a sense of melancholy take possession of me.
The spires of Heidelberg began to appear on the extreme horizon, and we
hoped to reach there before nightfall. It was then about five o’clock
in the afternoon, and great flakes of snow were whirling through the
gray atmosphere. Suddenly we heard the sound of a horse approaching
from behind us. When the rider was within twenty yards of us, he
moderated his speed, studying us meanwhile with a sidelong glance. We
returned his gaze.
Picture to yourself a large man, with reddish hair and beard, in a
three-cornered hat and loose fox-skin pelisse; his arms buried to
the elbows in fur gloves. He carried a handsome valise behind him,
resting on the haunches of his powerful stallion. He was evidently some
alderman or burgomaster or personage of like importance.
“Ho! Ho! my good fellows!” he cried; “you are on your way to Heidelberg
to perform, I see.” Wilfred surveyed the traveler from the corner of
his eye, and replied briefly: “Is that of any interest to you, sir?”
“Yes, for in that case I wish to give you a bit of advice.” “Advice?”
“Precisely; if you wish it.” Wilfred started on without replying. I
noticed that the traveler’s appearance was like that of an enormous
cat; his ears wide apart, his eyelids half closed, with a bristling
mustache, and a fatherly, almost caressing manner. “My friend,” he
continued, addressing himself to me, “frankly, you will do well to
retrace your steps.” “Why so, sir?” “The great Maestro Pimenti has just
now announced a concert to take place at Heidelberg on Christmas day.
The entire city will be there, and you will not earn a kreutzer.” At
this point, Wilfred turned around ill-humoredly: “We care not a sou for
your Maestro nor all the Pimentis in Christendom,” he said; “look at
this young fellow here, without even the sign of a beard on his chin!
He has never yet played outside of the ale-houses of the Black Forest,
for the woodcutters and charcoal-women to dance; and yet this boy,
with his long yellow curls and big blue eyes, defies all your Italian
impostors. His left hand is possessed of inimitable melody, grace, and
suppleness, and his right of a power to draw the bow, that the Almighty
rarely accords us mortals.”
“Oh! ho! Indeed!” returned the other. “It is just as I tell you,”
Wilfred replied, and he resumed his pace, blowing on his fingers that
were red with the cold. I saw that he was ridiculing the horseman,
who continued to follow us at an easy trot. We continued thus for a
full half mile in silence. Suddenly the stranger said to us abruptly:
“Whatever skill you may possess, go back to the Black Forest; we have
vagabonds enough in Heidelberg without you to increase the number. I
give you good advice, particularly under the existing circumstances;
you will do well to profit by it.”
Wilfred, now thoroughly out of patience, was about to reply, but the
traveler, urging his horse into a gallop, had already crossed the broad
Avenue d’Electeur. An immense flock of crows flew up from the plain
and seemed to be following him, filling the heavens with their cawing.
We reached Heidelberg at about seven o’clock, and we did indeed see
Pimenti’s magnificent posters on all the walls of the city, which read:
“Grand Concert Solo.”
That same evening in visiting the various inns, we met many old
comrades from the Black Forest, who engaged us to play in their troupe.
There was old Bremer, the ’cellist, his two sons, Ludwig and Karl, both
good second violins; Heinrich Siebel, the clarionet player, and Bertha
with her harp; Wilfred with his double-bass and I with my violin made
up the number. We agreed to travel together after the Christmas concert
and divide the proceeds among us. Wilfred had already hired a room for
us both on the sixth floor of the Pied de Mouton Tavern, which stood
half-way down the Holdergrasse, and for it he was to pay four kreutzers
a day. Properly speaking, it was nothing but a garret, but fortunately
there was a stove in it, and we lighted a fire to dry ourselves.
As we were comfortably seated, toasting chestnuts over the fire and
enjoying a jug of wine, little Annette, the housemaid, appeared in a
black calico dress and velvet turban, with rosy cheeks and lips like a
cluster of cherries. She came running up the stairs, gave a hasty knock
and threw herself joyfully into my arms. I had known the pretty little
girl for a long time; we were of the same village, and if truth must be
told, her sparkling eyes and frolicsome ways had quite won my heart.
“I came up to have a little talk with you,” she said, dropping into a
chair. “I saw you come up a moment ago and here I am.”
She began to chatter away, asking for this one or that one of the
village and hardly giving me time to reply. Every now and then she
would pause and look at me with the greatest tenderness. We might have
continued thus until the next morning had not Dame Grédel Dick begun
to call from the foot of the stairs: “Annette! Annette! Are you never
coming?” “Right away, ma’am!” answered the poor child reluctantly. She
tapped me lightly on the cheek and ran toward the door; but just as
she was crossing the threshold, she suddenly stopped. “By the way,”
she cried, “I was forgetting to tell you; but perhaps you have heard
about it?” “About what?” “The death of our precentor, Zahn.” “But how
does that affect us?” “To be sure; only see that your passport is all
right. Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock they will come to examine it.
Everybody is being arrested in the last fortnight. The precentor was
assassinated last night in the library of Saint Christopher’s Chapel,
and only a week ago, old Ulmet Elias, the sacrificer, was similarly
murdered in the Rue des Juifs. Some days before that Christina Hâas,
the old midwife, was also killed, as well as the agate dealer Seligmann
of the Rue Durlach. So look out for yourself, dear Kasper, and see that
your passport is all right.”
While she was speaking, Dame Grédel’s voice came again from below:
“Annette! will you come here? The good-for-nothing child, leaving me to
do all the work!”
And the sound of men’s voices calling for wine, beer, ham, or sausages
mingled with her own. Further delay was out of the question. Annette
hastened down the stairs, crying as she went: “Goodness, ma’am! what
has happened? One would think that the house were afire!” Wilfred
crossed the room and closed the door behind her; then returning to his
chair, we looked at each other, not without a feeling of apprehension.
“That is singular news,” he said; “your passport is all right, I
suppose?” “Certainly.” And I produced my papers. “Good! Mine is too,
for I had it made out just before leaving. But nevertheless, these
murders do not augur us any good. I am afraid we shall not be able to
do much business here; many of the families will be in mourning; and
then, too, the bother and pettifogging of the authorities.” “Pshaw! you
take too gloomy a view of it,” I replied.
We continued to discuss these singular happenings until after midnight.
The glow from our little stove lighted up the angle of the roof, the
square window with its three cracked panes, the straw strewn about
the floor, the blackened beams propped against each other, and the
little firwood table that cast its uncertain shadow upon the worm-eaten
ceiling. From time to time, a mouse, enticed by the warmth, would
dart like an arrow along the wall. The wind howled in the chimney and
whirled the snow about the gutters. I was dreaming of Annette; the
silence was complete. Suddenly Wilfred exclaimed, throwing off his
jacket: “It is time for sleep. Put another stick on the fire and we
will go to bed!” “We can’t do better than that,” I replied. So saying,
I drew off my boots, and a moment later we were stretched out on the
straw with the coverlid tucked under our chins and a log under our
heads for a pillow. Wilfred lost no time in getting to sleep. The light
from the stove flickered and trembled; the wind redoubled its force
outside, and as I lay thus with a sense of perfect contentment, I,
too, dozed off. At about two o’clock in the morning I was awakened by a
strange noise. I thought at first that it was a cat running along the
gutter, but, putting my ear to the wall, my uncertainty was at once
dispelled; somebody was walking on the roof. I nudged Wilfred. “Sh!”
he whispered, pressing my hand; he had heard it, too. The firelight
was casting its last shadows on the decrepit walls. I was considering
whether I would get up or not, when the little window, held only by
a bit of brick, slowly opened. A pale face with shining eyes, red
hair, and quivering cheeks appeared in the opening and gazed into
the interior of the chamber. Our fear was so great that we hadn’t
strength left to cry out. At length the man glided through the sash
and let himself down into the loft without a sound. The man, short and
thick-set, the muscles of his face contracted like a tiger about to
spring, was none other than the ingenuous person who had volunteered
his advice on the road to Heidelberg. But how different he seemed to us
now! In spite of the bitter cold, he was in his shirt sleeves, dressed
only in a pair of breeches, woolen stockings, and silver buckled shoes.
A long, blood-stained knife glittered in his hand.
Wilfred and I thought our last hour had surely come. But he did not
appear to see us in the oblique shadow of the loft, notwithstanding
that the fire started up again in the cold draft from the open window.
He squatted down on a chair and began to shiver in a strange manner.
Suddenly he fixed his yellowish-green eyes upon me; his nostrils
dilated and he watched me for a full minute, while the blood froze in
my veins. Then turning toward the stove, he gave a hoarse cough, like
the purring of a cat, without moving a muscle of his face. He drew a
large watch from his breeches pocket, made a gesture as if looking at
the time, and either inadvertently or purposely laid it on the table.
This done, he rose as if undecided, looked doubtfully at the window,
hesitated, and finally disappeared through the door, leaving it wide
open behind him. I sprang up to turn the lock; already the man’s
footsteps creaked on the staircase two floors below. An irresistible
curiosity asserted itself over my fear, and hearing a window open,
which looked upon the court, I approached the sash of the little
winding staircase on the same side of the house. The courtyard, from
where I stood, lay at a dizzy depth, and a wall from fifty to sixty
feet high divided it. On the right of the wall was the yard of a pork
butcher; on the left, the inn yard of the Pied de Mouton. The top
of this wall, which was overgrown with damp mosses and that sort of
vegetation that thrives in dark places, extended in a straight line
from the window, which the man had just opened, to the roof of a large,
sombre-looking dwelling, built in the rear of the Bergstrasse.
I took all this in at a glance while the moon shone between the heavy,
snow-laden clouds, and I shuddered as I saw the man flee along the
wall, his head bent forward and the knife still in his hand, while the
wind howled lugubriously around him. He reached the opposite roof and
disappeared. I thought I must be dreaming. For some moments I stood
there, open-mouthed with wonder, my breast bare, and hair tossed about,
drenched by the sleet that fell from the roof. At length recovering
from my bewilderment, I returned to the loft and found Wilfred, who
looked at me with a haggard expression and was mumbling a prayer. I
hastened to bolt the door, dress myself, and replenish the fire.
“Well,” said my comrade, sitting up. “Well,” I rejoined, “we have
escaped this time, but if that fellow didn’t see us, it was only
because our time has not yet come.” “You are right!” he cried. “He is
one of the murderers Annette spoke of. Great Heavens! What a face! And
what a knife!” And he fell back on the straw.
I emptied at a draft what wine still remained in the jug, and then,
as the fire started up again, diffusing a grateful warmth through the
chamber, and the lock appeared sufficiently strong, my courage began to
revive. But the watch was still there and the man might return for it.
The thought filled us with horror.
“Well, what is our next move?” asked Wilfred. “The best thing we can do
is to strike out at once for the Black Forest.” “Why so?” “I have no
further desire to figure on the double-bass; you may do as you like.”
“Why should we leave? We have committed no crime.” “Speak low!” he
replied, “that one word ‘crime’ might hang us. We poor devils are made
to serve as examples for others. They don’t bother their heads much
to find out whether we are guilty or not. If they should discover
that watch here, it would be enough.” “Look here, Wilfred! It won’t
do to lose your head! A crime has undoubtedly been committed in this
neighborhood, but what should honest men do under the circumstances?
Instead of running away from Justice, they should try to aid it.” “How
aid it?” “The simplest way would be to take this watch to the bailiff
and tell him what has passed.” “Never! I wouldn’t even dare to touch
it!” “Very well, I will take it myself, but now let’s go back to bed
and try to get some more sleep if we can.” “I don’t care to sleep.”
“Well, light your pipe, then, and we will talk while we wait for
daylight. Let’s go downstairs, there may be some one there still.” “I
would rather stay here.” “All right.” And we sat down again before the
fire.
As soon as dawn appeared, I took the watch from the table. It was
a fine one with minute and second hands. Wilfred seemed somewhat
reassured. “Kasper,” he said, “on second thoughts, it seems more
suitable for me to go to the bailiff. You are too young to take part
in such matters. You would make a mess of it when you tried to explain
the affair.” “Just as you like,” I replied. “Yes, it would look odd
for a man of my years to send a mere child in my place.” “Very good; I
understand.”
He took the watch, but I believe that only his pride drove him to
this resolution. He would have been ashamed to show less courage than
I before his comrades. We went down from the loft in a thoughtful
mood. As we crossed the alleyway that comes out on the Rue Saint
Christopher, we heard the clicking of glasses. I recognized the voice
of old Bremer and his sons, Ludwig and Karl. “By Jove,” said I, “it
wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a glass before we start.” I pushed open
the door of the tap-room as I spoke, and we found all our company
gathered there, their instruments variously deposited about the room.
We were received with shouts of satisfaction and places were quickly
made for us at the table. “Ho! Good morning, comrades,” said Bremer;
“more snow and wind. All the taverns are full of people, and every
bottle that is opened means a florin in our pockets.” I saw little
Annette looking as fresh and fair as a rose, and smiling fondly at me
with her lips and eyes. This sight reanimated me. It was I who got the
daintiest morsels, and whenever she approached to set a glass of wine
at my elbow, she touched me caressingly on the shoulder, and I thought,
with a beating heart, of the days when we used to go chestnutting
together. But in spite of this, the pale face of our strange visitor of
the night before recurred to me from time to time, and made me tremble.
I looked at Wilfred; he, too, seemed thoughtful.
Eight o’clock came and our party was about to start out, when the door
was thrown open, and three big fellows, with lead-colored complexions,
their eyes shining like rats, and their hats awry, appeared on the
threshold, followed by several others of a like description. One of
them, with a razor-back nose, and with a heavy club bound to his
wrist, stepped forward, crying: “Your passports, gentlemen!” Each one
hastened to comply with the request. Unfortunately, Wilfred, who stood
near the stove, was seized with a sudden trembling. The officer’s
experienced eye detected his agitation, and as he paused in his reading
to give him a questioning look, my comrade conceived the unlucky idea
of slipping the watch into his boot; but before it had reached its
destination, the official slapped his hand against the other’s hip, and
said jeeringly: “Something seems to trouble you here.” To everybody’s
amazement, Wilfred was seized with a fainting spell and dropped upon
a bench pale as death. Without further ceremony, Madoc, the Chief of
Police, pulled up his trousers’ leg and drew out the watch with a burst
of evil laughter. He had no sooner glanced at it, however, than he
became sober, and, turning to his men, he cried in a terrible voice:
“Let no one leave the room! We have caught the whole band at last!
Look! this is the watch of Dean Daniel Van den Berg. Bring hither the
handcuffs!” This order chilled us to the marrow. A tumult followed, and
I, believing that we were lost, slid under a bench near the wall. As I
was watching them chain the hands of poor old Bremer and his sons, Karl
and Ludwig, together with Heinrich and Wilfred, I felt Annette’s little
hand brush against my cheek and she drew me gently toward her--slowly
and quietly toward the open cellar door. I was unnoticed in the general
confusion; I slipped within; the door closed behind me. It was but the
matter of a second. Scarcely had I concealed myself, before I heard my
poor comrades depart; then all became silent.
I will leave you to imagine the nature of my reflections during an
entire day, crouched down behind a wine cask with my legs gathered
under me, and realizing that if a dog should enter the cellar, if the
landlady should take the notion to come downstairs to fill a pitcher,
if the cask should run out before night and were to be replaced; in
short, if the slightest thing went amiss, it would be all up with
me. All these thoughts and a thousand others passed through my mind,
and I fancied that I already saw my comrades being led to execution.
Little Annette, no less anxious than myself, closed the door prudently
each time that she came up from the cellar. At last, I heard the old
woman cry: “Leave the door open! Are you mad to lose half your time in
shutting it?” After that the door remained ajar, and from my nook in
the shadows I could see the tables gradually filling with new customers.
Stories, discussions, and exclamations concerning the famous band of
robbers reached my ears. “Oh! the rascals!” cried one; “thank Heaven
they are caught. What a scourge they have been to Heidelberg! No one
dared risk himself in the streets after ten o’clock, and even business
was beginning to suffer; but now things are changed and in a fortnight
it will all be forgotten.”
“Those musicians of the Black Forest are a lot of bandits!” chimed
in another; “they make their way into the houses under pretext of
playing, and meanwhile they are examining the locks, bolts, chests, and
windows, and some fine morning we hear that such a one has had his
throat cut in his bed; that his wife has been murdered, his children
strangled, and his house rifled from top to bottom. The wretches should
be strung up without mercy! Then we might have some peace.” “The whole
village will turn out to see them hanged,” said Mother Grédel, “and as
for me, it will be the happiest day of my life.” “Do you know, if it
hadn’t been for Dean Daniel’s watch, no trace of them would have been
found. Last night the watch disappeared, and this morning the Dean
notified the police. An hour later, Madoc bagged them all! Ha! Ha!
Ha!” The entire roomful burst out laughing, and I trembled with shame,
indignation, and fear in turn.
Meanwhile, the night drew on. Only a few loungers remained. The people
of the inn, who had sat up the night before, were anxious to get to
bed. I heard the landlady yawn and mutter: “Oh, dear! How long before
we can get some sleep?” Most of the tipplers comprehended the force of
this remark and withdrew; only one remained, sitting half asleep before
his glass. The watchman, going his rounds, woke him up and he went off
grumbling and staggering.
“At last!” I said to myself; “this is good luck; Mother Grédel has
gone to bed and Annette will not be slow in getting me out.” With this
agreeable prospect in view, I had already stretched out my stiffened
limbs, when Dame Grédel’s voice reached my ear: “Annette, go and
lock up, and don’t forget to bolt the door! I am going down cellar.”
It appeared that this was a wise custom of hers to assure herself
that everything was right. “But, madame,” stammered the girl, “the
cask isn’t empty. You needn’t bother to--” “Mind your own business,”
interrupted the mistress, whose candle was already lighting up the
passageway. I had barely time to squat down again behind the cask, when
the old woman, stooping beneath the low, dingy ceiling, passed from one
keg to another, mumbling as she went: “Oh! the little wretch! How she
lets the wine leak. I’ll teach her to close the spigots tighter; did
ever any one see the like?” The candle threw great shadows against the
damp wall. I huddled closer and closer. Suddenly, just as I thought the
visit happily ended, and was beginning to breathe easier again, I heard
the old creature give a sigh so long and so full of woe that I knew
something unusual was happening. I risked just the least glance, and I
saw Dame Grédel Dick, her under jaw dropped and her eyes sticking out
of her head, staring at the bottom of the barrel behind which I lay.
She had caught sight of one of my feet underneath the joist that served
as a wedge to keep the cask in place. She evidently believed she had
discovered the chief of the robbers concealed there for the purpose of
strangling her during the night. I formed a sudden resolution. “Madame,
for God’s sake, have pity on me!” I cried: “I am--” Without looking at
me, or listening to a word I said, she set up an ear-splitting shriek
and started up the stairs as quickly as her great weight would permit.
Seized with inexpressible terror, I clung to her skirt and went down on
my knees. This only made matters worse. “Help! seize the assassin! Oh,
my God! release me! Take my money! Oh! Oh!”
It was horrible. In vain did I cry: “Only look at me, my dear madame; I
am not what you think me!” She was beside herself with fear; she raved
and screamed in such piercing tones that had we not been underground,
the whole neighborhood would inevitably have been aroused. In this
extremity, consulting only my rage, I overturned her, and gaining the
door before her, I slammed it in her face, taking care to slip the
bolt. During the struggle the candle had been extinguished and Dame
Grédel was left in the dark. Her cries grew fainter and fainter. I
stared at Annette, giddy, and with hardly strength enough left to
stand. Her agitation equaled mine. We neither of us seemed able to
speak, and stood listening to the expiring cries of the mistress, which
soon ceased altogether. The poor woman had fainted.
“Oh! Kasper,” cried Annette, wringing her hands, “what is to be done?
Fly! fly! You may have been heard! Did you kill her?” “Kill her? I?”
“I am so glad! But fly! I will open the door for you.” She unbarred
it, and I fled into the street, without stopping even to thank her;
but I was so terrified and there was not a moment to lose. The night
was inky black; not a star in the sky, and the street lamps unlighted.
The weather was abominable; it was snowing hard and the wind howled
dismally. Not until I had run for a good half-hour did I stop to take
breath. You may imagine my horror when looking up I found myself
directly opposite the Pied de Mouton Tavern. In my terror I had run
around the square a half dozen times for aught I knew. My legs felt
like lead and my knees tottered under me.
The inn, but a moment before deserted, swarmed like a bee-hive, and
lights danced about from window to window. It was evidently filled
with the police. And now, at my wits’ end, desperate, exhausted with
cold and hunger, and not knowing where to find refuge, I resolved upon
the strangest possible course. “By Jove,” I said to myself, “as well
be hanged as leave my bones on the road to the Black Forest.” And I
walked into the tavern with the intention of giving myself up to the
officials. Besides the fellows with their cocked hats tilted rakishly
over their ears, and the clubs fastened to their wrists, whom I had
already seen in the morning, and who were now running here and there,
and turning everything upside down, there was the bailiff, Zimmer,
standing before one of the tables, dressed in black, with a grave air
and penetrating glance, and near him the secretary Roth, with his red
wig, imposing countenance, and large ears, flat as oyster shells. They
paid no attention to my entrance, and this circumstance altered my
resolution at once. I sat down in a corner of the room behind the big
cast-iron stove, in company with two or three of the neighbors, who
had run hither to see what was going on, and I ordered a pint of wine
and a dish of sauerkraut. Annette came near betraying me. “Goodness!”
she cried, “is it possible!” But one exclamation, more or less, in
such a babel of voices possessed but little significance. It passed
unnoticed, and, while I ate with a ravenous appetite, I listened to
the examination to which Dame Grédel was subjected as she lay back in
a large armchair, her hair falling down and her eyes bulged out with
fright. “How old did the man appear to be?” asked the bailiff. “Between
forty and fifty, sir. He was an enormous man with black side whiskers,
or maybe brown, I don’t exactly remember, with a long nose and green
eyes.” “Did he have any birth-mark or scars?” “I don’t remember any.
He only had a big hammer and pistols.” “Very good! And what did he say
to you?” “He seized me by the throat, but fortunately I screamed so
loud it frightened him, and I defended myself with my finger-nails.
When any one tries to murder you, you fight hard for your life, sir.”
“Nothing is more natural or legitimate, madame. Take this down, Roth!
The coolness of this good woman is truly remarkable.” The rest of the
deposition was in the same strain. They questioned Annette afterward,
but she testified to having been so frightened that she could remember
nothing.
“That will do,” said the bailiff; “if we need anything further, we will
return to-morrow morning.” Everybody withdrew, and I asked Dame Grédel
for a room for the night. So great had been her fear that she had not
the slightest recollection of having seen me before. “Annette,” said
she, “Show the gentleman to the little room on the third floor. I can
not stand on my legs. Oh! dear! what trials we have to bear in this
world.” She began to weep.
Annette, having lighted a candle, led me up to the little chamber,
and when we found ourselves alone, she cried innocently: “Oh! Kasper,
Kasper! Who would have believed that you were one of the band! I can
never console myself for having loved a robber!” “What! you, too,
believe us guilty, Annette?” I exclaimed despairingly, dropping into a
chair; “that is the last straw on the camel’s back.” “No! no! you can
not be. You are too much of a gentleman, dear Kasper! And you were so
brave to come back.” I explained to her that I was perishing with cold
and hunger, and that that was the only consideration which led me to
return.
We were left to ourselves for some time; then Annette departed, lest
she should arouse Madame Grédel’s suspicions. Left to myself, after
having ascertained that the windows were not approached by any wall,
and that the sashes were securely fastened, I thanked God that I had
thus far been brought safely through the perils which surrounded me,
and then going to bed, I was soon fast asleep.