meditative
glass of beer with such friends as he had made in Dantzig. For he was a
lonely man, whose face was quite familiar to many who looked for a bow
or a friendly salutation in vain.

If he went to the Rathskeller it was on the invitation of a friend; for
he could not afford to pay the vintage of that cellar, though he drank
the wine with the slow mouthing of a connoisseur when he had it.

More often than not he took a walk first, passing out of the Frauenthor
on to the quay, where he turned to left or right and made his way back
through one or other of the town gates, by devious narrow streets
to that which is still called the Portchaisengasse though chairs and
carriers have long ceased to pass along it. Here, on the northern
side of the street is an old inn, "Zum weissen Ross'l," with a broken,
ill-carved head of a white horse above the door. Across the face of the
house is written, in old German letters, an invitation:

Gruss Gott. Tritt ein!
Bring Gluck herein.

But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White Horse
was behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets.

Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a house
of entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass of beer.
He seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for some purpose,
changing his route from day to day, and hurrying across the wider
thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to attract but little
attention. He was not alone in the quiet streets, for there were many
in Dantzig at this time who from wealth had fallen to want. Many
counting-houses once noisy with prosperity were now closed and silent.
For five years the prosperous Dantzig had lain crushed beneath the iron
heel of the conqueror.

It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation of
Charles's most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme. The
clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when he took
his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door. He was so
absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated just within the
open door of the kitchen. But Barlasch saw him, and scratched his head
at the sight.

The northern evenings are chill even in June, and Sebastian fumbled with
his cloak. It would appear that he was little used to helping himself in
such matters. Barlasch came out of the kitchen when Sebastian's back