fficial merely looked over his spectacles at his subordinate, who
in his turn, leaning back in his tall chair and stroking his beard,
called out, "Klaus! Klaus!"--a call which was answered by a tall,
stolid-looking man, also in livery, who seemed to occupy the post of
official hostler.

"Klaus," demanded the second chef, "the Herrschaft ask when the vehicle
will be ready."

Klaus gave an astonished stare, and articulated some rapid sounds in a
dialect quite unintelligible to us.

"Precisely," returned the subordinate. "The horses are sent for, and
when they arrive the Herrschaft will be expedited forthwith."

Whereupon the clerks of the post-direction became suddenly immersed in
the duties of their office. We took the hint and good-naturedly retired.

It certainly looked like business when outside we perceived Klaus
dragging forth with all his might and main, from a dark and dusty
coach-house, a still dustier old coach. Darker it was not, for the color
was that of canary, emblazoned with the black double-headed Austrian
eagle. This, then, was the caleche No. 1990. It had the air of a veteran
officer in the imperial army who had not seen active service for many a
long day.

Klaus was too busy to pay much attention to us. He pulled the piece of
antiquity into the street, and with an uneasy expression, as if he knew
before-hand what he had to expect, he tried and tugged at one of the
door-handles. "Sacrament!" he muttered as he at last let go and began
hunting in the boot of the coach, under the driver's cushion and in
secret nooks and corners, which proved, at the best, mere receptacles
for fag-ends of whipcord and cobwebs.

"It is gone, sure enough, the key of the right-hand door." I am afraid
it had disappeared three years before, at least, to the fellow's
knowledge, for he added in an apologetic but hopeful tone, "It matters
not the least, for, see you, all the inns are on the left-hand side."

A glimpse into the coach-house had convinced us of the fact of this
vehicle alone being at our disposal; so we determined to manage as best
we might, and bore even philosophically the smell of the musty,
dust-filled cushions, which Klaus triumphantly pulled out of the open
door and beat, as it were, within an inch of their lives.

Briefly, to make two long hours short after several tedious quarters of
expectation, a square-set, rosy-faced and middle-aged postilion appeared
round the far corner of the village street, re