ound his
neck, and kissed it as if he would devour it, and at last he told us
that his father at home spoke that language, and begged us to come with
him. On our way he related to us, that his father came to this village
more than forty years ago, that he was a German, and had married here.
For some weeks past he had been lying dangerously ill, and for several
days he had been speaking in a language none of them understood, and
his father could no longer understand his wife, or children, or
grandchildren. It was quite heartbreaking. We went into the house,
where we found an old man, with snow white hair and long beard, calling
out, 'Get me a bunch of rosemary;' and then he sung, 'And plant it on
my grave!' I shuddered on seeing and hearing this, but Striegler went
up boldly to him, saying, 'How are you, fellow countryman?' Never, if I
live a hundred years, can I forget the expression of the old man's eyes
on hearing these words; they were wide open and fixed, and he first
stretched out his hands, and then crossed them over his breast, as if
he were pressing the precious words to his heart. Striegler spoke
again, and the old man gave very rational answers, sometimes rather
confused, but on the whole quite intelligible. He was originally from
Hesse, but had taken the name of Caballero, and was naturalised in
Spain. For fifty years he had spoken nothing but Spanish, and now at
the point of death, he could not speak a single word of Spanish--it all
seemed blown away into the air; and I believe, though I am not so sure
of this, that he no longer even understood a syllable of Spanish. The
whole family were most thankful that we could interpret what the old
man said.

"Striegler profited by being so much considered in the village, and did
a good turn of business there; and in the meanwhile I sat with the old
man, and the best time I ever had was when I travelled with Striegler.
I got plenty to eat and drink; the people fed me up as if it were to
benefit the old man. He did not die, after all, and we went away in
three days; but scarcely were we a couple of miles on our road, when
the son came riding after us, to say that his father was calling for us
in such distress that we must go back. We did so, and heard him talking
German, but we could not understand what he wanted, and exclaiming,
'Now I am going home!' he died."

Petrowitsch here made a pause, and then continued:--"The whole affair
made a considerable impression on m