the war. The toll-collector (_Thorschreiber_) of this little
town had just received a mandate, and he was sitting on a bench before
the toll-bar, when the "Host of the Sun" came up. The appearance of
this man had in it something comical, and at the same time wild and
terrible. The lean pony which he rode, and the grotesque choice of his
attire, in which his taste had probably been less consulted than the
chronology of his thefts, contrasted singularly enough with a face over
which so many raging passions were spread, like mangled corpses on a
field of battle. The collector was struck by the sight of this strange
wanderer. He had grown grey at the toll-bar, and by attending to his
office for forty years had become an infallible physiognomist of all
the vagabonds about. The falcon-glance of this investigator did not
miss its man on this occasion. He at once fastened the town-gate, and
asked the rider for his passport while he secured his bridle. Wolf was
prepared for chances of this kind, and actually had with him a
passport, which he had taken shortly before while plundering a
merchant. This single voucher, however, did not suffice to counteract
the observation of forty years, and to move the oracle of the toll-bar
to a recantation. He trusted his eyes more than the paper, and Wolf
was obliged to follow him to the office of the bailiff.

The superior of the office examined the passport and declared it
correct. He was an ardent lover of news, and it was his delight to
chatter over the newspaper by his bottle. The passport told him that
the bearer had come straight from those foreign countries, where the
theatre of the war was situated. He hoped to get private intelligence
from the stranger, and sent back a secretary with the passport to
invite him to partake of a bottle of wine.

In the meanwhile the "Host of the Sun" was standing in front of the
office, and the whimsical spectacle had assembled the rabble of the
town in throngs. The people whispered into one another's ears, pointed
at the horse and rider, till at last the insolence of the mob increased
to a loud tumult. The horse, at which every one pointed, was unluckily
a stolen one, and Wolf fancied that it had been described in placards
and was recognised. The unexpected hospitality of the superior
confirmed his suspicion. He now considered it certain that the falsity
of his passport was discovered, and that the invitation was only a
snare to catch