l of his wheel
before the other reached him. Spiele was frightened and rode between
him and the rustic; her heart urged her to get near her husband. It was
the worst move she could make; she prevented him from dodging in time.
The impact was terrible. With bent head and shoulders drawn in, the
farm-hand had shot at Hoeflinger's wheel as if lost in deep thought. The
collision threw him over his own bar and the fore-wheel of Hoeflinger
against the curb, where he lay like a sack. Hoeflinger bent aside
toward Spiele's wheel. The woman, the man, their wheels and that of the
farm-hand, the bar of which had caught in Hoeflinger's spokes, tumbled
clattering and crashing into the ditch. Hoeflinger had stretched out his
hand and balanced himself, breaking the force of the impact. Spiele was
buried under her wheel, but her husband's weight did not fall on her.

There was a moment of suspense, until Pratteler appeared to render
assistance. With chalky pallor he bent over the victims of the mishap
and began to work like a fireman. First he grabbed the machine of the
farm-hand, disentangled it and flung it furiously out upon the road
with a clatter which its owner fortunately did not hear. Then he freed
Hoeflinger from his own wheel, which was still between his knees, and
helped him to his feet. Finally he reached Spiele; she was a bit pale,
but unhurt. When he saw her on her feet once more, he began to upbraid
Hoeflinger. He seemed beside himself and positively dangerous. He showed
his teeth, looked Hoeflinger up and down and rattled away about crazy
hooks, danger to life, and stupidity. Hoeflinger looked at him in
amazement and was getting ready to keep him at arm's length. Victor had
been so much praised by the tailor's daughter that his conceit had
grown; he was firmly convinced that he was the latest guest, not only
in her house, but also in her heart. Undisciplined as his mentality
was, he forgot all standards and limitations of the world and wanted
only to blame Hoeflinger for the great fright they had experienced. At
heart this beastliness was only a means of relaxing the surplus tension
of his nature; but it showed nevertheless what savage beasts were
haunting the queer faithful soul of the Swiss. At last a stray glance
of his eyes caught the strange expression which Spiele's face had
assumed at his attack, and he suddenly lapsed into silence, as if he
had been hit on the mouth.

Spiele asked Hoeflinger with subdued voice w