ering a correction."

"A correction!" said the little man, leaping with anger, and drawing
himself up under the nose of the burgomaster.

"Yes," replied the other, who, nevertheless, did not fail to admire the
pygmy's courage; "if you do not answer the questions satisfactorily I
am going to put to you. I am the burgomaster of Hirschwiller; here are
the rural guard, the shepherd and his dog. We are stronger than you--be
wise and tell me peaceably who you are, what you are doing here, and
why you do not dare to appear in broad daylight. Then we shall see
what's to be done with you."

"All that's none of your business," replied the little man in his
cracked voice. "I shall not answer."

"In that case, forward, march," ordered the burgomaster, who grasped
him firmly by the nape of the neck; "you are going to sleep in prison."

The little man writhed like a weasel; he even tried to bite, and the
dog was sniffing at the calves of his legs, when, quite exhausted, he
said, not without a certain dignity:

"Let go, sir, I surrender to superior force--I'm yours!"

The burgomaster, who was not entirely lacking in good breeding, became
calmer.

"Do you promise?" said he.

"I promise!"

"Very well--walk in front."

And that is how, on the night of the 29th of July, 1835, the
burgomaster took captive a little red-haired man, issuing from the
cavern of Geierstein.

Upon arriving at Hirschwiller the rural guard ran to find the key of
the prison and the vagabond was locked in and double-locked, not to
forget the outside bolt and padlock.

Everyone then could repose after his fatigues, and Petrus Mauerer went
to bed and dreamed till midnight of this singular adventure.

On the morrow, toward nine o'clock, Hans Goerner, the rural guard,
having been ordered to bring the prisoner to the town house for another
examination, repaired to the cooler with four husky daredevils. They
opened the door, all of them curious to look upon the Will-o'-the-wisp.
But imagine their astonishment upon seeing him hanging from the bars of
the window by his necktie! Some said that he was still writhing; others
that he was already stiff. However that may be, they ran to Petrus
Mauerer's house to inform him of the fact, and what is certain is that
upon the latter's arrival the little man had breathed his last.

The justice of the peace and the doctor of Hirschwiller drew up a
formal statement of the catastrophe; then they buried the unknown in a