and drained bumper after
bumper with a speed which made the landlord, though he was accustomed to
marvellous performances on the part of his guests, shake the head set on
his immensely thick neck somewhat suspiciously.

The few persons present had gathered in a group and were talking sadly
about the great misfortune which had assailed the Emperor. The universal
grief displayed so hypocritically, as Seitz thought, angered him, and he
gazed at them with such a sullen, threatening look that no one ventured
to approach him. Sometimes he stared into his wine, sometimes into
vacancy, sometimes at the vaulted ceiling above. He harshly rebuffed the
landlord and the waiter who tried to accost him, but when the peasant's
prediction was fulfilled and the thunderstorm of the preceding night
was followed at midnight by one equally severe, he arose and left the
hostelry. The rain tempted him into the open air. The taproom was so
sultry, so terribly sultry. The moisture of the heavens would refresh
him.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The fury of the tempest had ceased, but the sky was still obscured by
clouds. A cool breeze blew from the northeast through the damp, heavy
air.

Heinz Schorlin was coming from the fortress, and after crossing the
Diligengasse went directly towards his lodgings. His coat of mail,
spurs, and helmeted head were accoutrements for the saddle, yet he
was on foot. A throng of men, women, and children, whispering eagerly
together, accompanied him. One pointed him out to another, as if there
was something unusual about him. Two stalwart soldiers in the pay of the
city followed, carrying his saddle and the equipments of his horse, and
kept back the boys or women who boldly attempted to press too near.

Heinz did not heed the throng. He looked pale, and his thick locks,
falling in disorder from under his helmet, floated around his face. The
chain armour on his limbs and his long surcoat were covered with mire.
The young knight, usually so trim, looked disordered and, as it were,
thrown off his balance. His bright face bore the impress of a horror
still unconquered, as he gazed restlessly into vacancy, and seemed to be
seeking something, now above and now in the ground.

The pretty young hostess, Frau Barbara Deichsler, holding her little
three-year-old daughter by the hand, stood in front of the house in the
Bindergasse where he lodged. The knight usually had a pleasant or merry
word for her, and a gay jest or bit o