o looked at him again with that bitter
expression which might also pass for grief.

The intendant, who saw that Bruno was almost broken down, consented to
return.

CHAPTER XII.

The two friends returned to the inn. On their way, they met one of the
grooms who had brought their horses, and who now told them of a boatman
who had informed him that the body of a woman had been dragged from the
lake. It had been near the village, of which a few scattered houses and
the church steeple were visible on the opposite shore.

The intendant embraced Bruno, who seemed staggered at the news. They
sat down for a while, in the very spot where they had been when the
news reached them. The groom said that, by boat, they could reach the
village in one hour; but that if they went by land, it would take them
several hours.

"I can't cross the water," said Bruno, "I can't to-day; Schoning, don't
ask it of me! Don't force me! Why do you torment me so?" he asked
impatiently.

The intendant well knew that deep grief makes men unreasonable. In the
dark depths of their hearts, there still lurks a feeling of anger, even
toward those who most thoroughly sympathize with them, but who,
themselves, have been spared by misfortune.

"I take no offense at anything you do," he replied, "and through you
treat me rudely, I shall bear it. I understand you, and am far from
wishing to induce you to cross the lake. We'll ride."

Their horses were brought, and they rode off in the direction of the
village that had been pointed out to them. They passed an inn where a
crowd of merry wagoners, boatmen and woodcutters were sitting under the
lindens, and drinking beer or brandy. Bruno felt that he was being
treated like a fever patient whom they were dragging over hill and
dale, and to whose clouded vision the world seemed bare and desolate.
When they reached the inn, his mouth watered. He thirsted for drink;
perhaps it might give him new strength and, what was still better,
might enable him to forget. But he did not venture to express his wish
to his friend. Was it proper for one in his position to drink brandy? A
poacher, like Thomas, might do so; but it would ill befit a cavalier.
While thanking the intendant for the trouble he had given him, and
promising that he would never forget it, Bruno, whose tongue was
parched with thirst, secretly cursed the friend who would not allow him
to drink. Ah, how fortunate it is th