ch 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
halfway down the Holdergasse, 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 Gredel 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
murde