Besztercebanya."

Mravucsan was even more surprised.

Fancy any one coming all the way from Besztercebanya to Babaszek to buy
an umbrella! How proud he was it had happened under his mayorship! He
nudged Galba:

"Do you hear?" he said.

"This is only a small village shop, sir," answered Rosalia. "We don't
keep umbrellas."

"Pity enough!" muttered Mravucsan, biting savagely at his mustache.

"But I heard," went on the stranger, "that you had second-hand umbrellas
to sell."

Second-hand umbrellas! Well, what next!

Mravucsan, who was asthmatic, began to breathe heavily, and was just
going to say something disparaging to the stranger, when some runaway
horses attracted his attention, as they rushed across the market-place,
dragging a handsome phaeton with them.

"That will never be fit for use again," said the smith, as he stood
looking on, his hands folded under his leather apron.

The phaeton had probably been dashed against a wall, for the left side
was smashed to bits, the shaft was broken, one of the wheels had been
left somewhere on the road, and the reins were dragging on the ground
between the two horses.

"They are beautiful animals," said Galba.

"They belong to the priest of Glogova," answered Mravucsan. "I'm afraid
some one may have been thrown out of the carriage; let us go and see."

During this time the number of customers in Mrs. Muencz's shop had
increased, and as they had to be attended to, she first turned to the
stranger before serving them, and said:

"There are a lot of old umbrellas somewhere on the loft, but they would
not do for a fine gentleman like you."

"I should like to look at them all the same."

Mrs. Muencz had her hand on the door to let her customers in, and only
answered without turning round:

"I can assure you you would not take them in your hand."

But the young man was not to be put off so easily; he followed her into
the shop, and waited till the customers were all served, then remarked
again that he would like to see the umbrellas.

"But, my good sir, don't bother me about the umbrellas. I tell you they
would be of no use to you. They are some that were left from the time of
my poor husband; he knew how to mend umbrellas, and most of these are
broken and torn, and they certainly will not have improved, lying on the
dusty loft so long. Besides, I cannot show you them, for my son is at
the fair, the servant has a bad foot and cannot move, and when there is
a f