nd you have as much sense as any of them in
the city."

Vefela said he was making fun of her; but in her heart she believed
him. He kissed Vefela's hand and took his leave, taking off his hat
politely to Vefela. She remained standing under the door a long time
with thoughtful eyes and a pleased smile upon her lips: Brenner's
polite and yet kind-hearted manner had pleased her greatly. She went
upstairs singing, and let the soup-bowl fall out of her hands,--at
which she laughed aloud. Every thing was so delightful that evening
that she could not frown, no matter what happened. Late at night she
went into the cellar and brought the men a bottle of cider: they must
have a little enjoyment on a working-day for once.

The intimacy between Brenner and Vefela increased from day to day.

An event which had been so long expected that it almost took them by
surprise brought rejoicing into the manor-house. The news came that the
lawsuit was gained. The opponents had been at Rottenburg, where the
magistrate had told them very plainly, though with a little
circumlocution, that "the manor-house farmer's duns had come in ahead
of their grays." Though confined to the house, the manor-house farmer
put on his Sunday clothes and poured a whole pot of fresh milk into
Nero's breakfast. He sent to Melchior and Agatha to come and rejoice
with him: nobody cared to let him know that Agatha was on her
death-bed. Brenner, also, was sent for; and he alone accepted the
invitation. The manor-house farmer sat up till late at night, drinking,
laughing, and talking, and sometimes lapsing into sudden seriousness.
He sighed to think that his "old woman" could not share his good luck,
and drank a full glass to her memory. At last, as he was beginning to
nod in his chair, they carried him to bed.

It was very late when Brenner started to go. Vefela lighted him to
the door: they were both greatly excited, and exchanged fervent kisses.
On his entreaties and solicitations, Vefela at last said, aloud,
"Good-night." Brenner did the same, took the key, unlocked the door,
closed it with a bang, and locked it. But he had not left the house.

No one had any suspicions except Nero, who was tied in the yard, and
who barked all night as if a thief had got into the house.

Life and death were both busy in that house that night. The next
morning the manor-house farmer lay dead in his bed: the palsy had
struck him.

None could understand why it was that Vefela rav