s pair of chesnuts, returned home. When he was driving through
the village, he looked round in a strange manner to the right and to
the left, and greeted every one with unusual politeness. Gregor, who
had driven him, was in his postilion's dress, but had no horn, got down
and unharnessed the horses, and yet the Landlord still sat motionless
in the caleche. He was gazing thoughtfully at his Inn, and then again
at the carriage and horses. When, at last, he alighted and stood on the
ground, he sighed deeply, for he knew it was the last time he should
ever drive in an equipage of his own. All seems just as usual, and only
one single man, besides himself, knows what will soon be. He went
upstairs with a heavy step; his wife was on the landingplace above, and
whispered to him:--

"How is it settled?"

"All will be arranged," answered the Landlord, pushing quickly past his
wife to the public room, and not going first into the back parlour, as
he usually did when he came home. He gave the maid his hat and stick,
and joined the guests present. His dinner was brought to him at the
guests' table by his own desire, but he did not seem to relish it.

The guests stayed till late at night, and he stayed with them; he spoke
little, but even his sitting with them was considered a great attention
and pleasure.

The wife had gone to bed, and after she had been long asleep, the
Landlord also retired to rest--but rest he found none, for an invisible
power drew away the pillow from under his head: this bed, this house,
all here will be no longer yours tomorrow! His thoughts chiefly turned
on the caleche and the chesnut horses. He hastily rubbed his eyes, for
he suddenly thought that the two horses were in his room, stretching
out their heads over his bed, breathing hard, and staring at him with
their great eyes. He tried to compose his nerves, especially dwelling
on the fact, that he had borne his sorrows like a man. He had said
nothing to his wife, she should sleep soundly this night at least; it
will be time enough for her to hear the bad news in the morning, and
then not till after breakfast. When we have had a good night's rest,
and are thus strengthened and refreshed, and bright day is shining on
us, we can bear even the worst tidings with more fortitude.

Day dawned at last, and the landlord, who was quite worn out, begged
his wife, for once, to breakfast alone. At last he came downstairs, ate
a good breakfast, and, as his wife ur