pause, he said: "While the clever fellow makes
up his mind, the fool has time to make up his. I'll think about it."

They returned to the inn-parlor. Hansei felt ill at ease and soon went
home. On the way, old Zenza greeted him. He made believe that he
neither saw nor heard her, and hurried on. How glad he was that he had
not become wicked, and how would he have felt now, if he had allowed
himself to be tempted. Nothing would have been left him but to drown
himself in the lake before Walpurga's return.

When he reached home, he said to himself: "I can still enter here with
a good conscience and, God be praised, I can bid her welcome with a
good conscience." After he got into bed, he kept on repeating the
words: "God be praised," to himself, until he at last fell asleep. When
he awoke, the first thing he said was: "Good-morning, Walpurga." He
addressed his words to the empty air, but he felt as if she must hear
him, as if she were at home already, for she had sent so good a
messenger in advance. The letter was like a postillion playing welcome
melodies. Hansei lay there dreaming, with his eyes wide open, until
late in the day. But the day was both a good and an evil one. He had
promised his comrades to go out hunting with them. All at once, it
occurred to him that it was time to give up such sport. He would gladly
have remained at home, but feared the talk of the innkeeper and, though
the hills were far away, he felt as if he could distinctly hear the
innkeeper telling his comrades: "Ha! Ha! His wife's coming home, and
she's the master, and Hansei will have to lie down as she bids him." He
fancied that he heard his laughing comrades walking about in the woods
and calling out: "Lie down, Hansei; lie down," as if he were a dog.

An advocate at the provincial court,--for Hansei now had such
distinguished companions--was also with the hunting party, and would
laugh and jeer more than any of them. And then, to add to the fun, the
innkeeper would tell a fine story about the letter. Thank God, he
hadn't had a chance to read it. That would have been too bad. If I only
hadn't mentioned it; but I'm too stupid and can't keep a thing to
myself. If the innkeeper knew nothing of the letter, I could turn back
without feeling ashamed and without minding their jeers. But my mind's
made up. I shan't go with them again. I used to get along by myself,
and I will again, when she comes back. We'll need no one, then. Hansei
was busy thinking