e have been twice robbed in this inn; we were in danger
of being killed; my companion is wounded, as you see; if your government
is determined to detain us and our wagons, at least protect our lives
and our property. The wagons can not remain here, and if we are
separated from them, it will be still more difficult to prevent their
being plundered."

The soldiers now held a consultation, and at length their leader called
Anton to share in it. After much discussion, it was finally arranged
that the wagons should be moved to a neighboring establishment, equal to
this in accommodation, but superior in character. Anton obtained leave
to move to it with his companion, and there remain under surveillance
till something further should be decided. Meanwhile the merchant sat
leaning against the canvas covering, and taking, apparently, no interest
in what was going on. Anton now rapidly told him the decision arrived
at.

"We must bear it," said the principal, rising slowly and with
difficulty. "Ask the landlord for our bill."

"We will pay the landlord," said the soldier in command, roughly pushing
the functionary aside. "Think of yourself," added he, kindly catching
hold of the wounded man's arm to support him.

"Pay for us and for the horses," repeated Mr. Schroeter to Anton; "we can
not remain in these people's debt."

Anton accordingly took out his pocket-book, called the drivers together,
and, in their presence, made over a banknote to the landlord, saying to
him, "I now pay you this sum provisionally, until you shall have made
out your account. You men are witnesses." The drivers respectfully
bowed, and hurried back to their wagons.

The procession now set forth. First a portion of the armed escort, then
the heavy wagons, which slowly and helplessly rumbled along over the
stones; some of them without drivers, but kept in line by their
well-trained horses.

Mr. Schroeter stood at the gate, leaning upon Anton, and counted each
wagon as it passed; and as the last rolled off, he said, "Done at last,"
and consented to be led away.

In the very next cross-street the procession turned into the great
court-yard of another inn. When the last of the wagons had at length had
its horses unharnessed, and the soldiers had barred the gate from
within, the merchant fell down in a swoon, and was carried into the
house.

He was placed in a small room, a guard stationed at his door, and
another in the court. Anton remained alone wi