Landolin. Auerbach Berthold

to do. But who knows whether they were really so wise?

      Landolin said to his wife:

      "Stop feeding these people. Start them off. Don't be so friendly and talkative with the herd. It's impudence for them to come to me with good wishes. I don't want their good wishes."

      He then went across the yard and stood awhile by the dog. Yes, he even spoke to him. "You're right, you should have been with me. Such fellows don't deserve a word. They ought to have a dog set on them."

      Then Vetturi rushed into the yard, bareheaded, and called out: "Farmer! for the last time I say, I want my pay, my money."

      "What? You want anything from me! March out of this yard at once. Off with you! What? You're standing there yet? Once for all, go, or I'll make you!"

      "I won't go."

      "Shall I untie the dog and set him on you?"

      "You needn't untie the dog. You're a dog yourself."

      "I'm what?"

      "What I just said."

      "Vetturi, you know I have a hand like iron. Go! Go, or I'll knock you down so you'll never move again."

      "Do it! Kill me! You man-skinner, you-"

      A stone was thrown; there was a shriek; a moan was heard that even hushed the barking of the dog. Vetturi fell down, groaned once, and then lay motionless.

      Anton and Thoma had come to the open gate. They stood there as if rooted to the spot.

      "For God's sake! What has happened?" Anton cried, and hastened to the prostrate form. But Thoma stood still, and fixed her gaze on her father, who was tearing open his vest, and loosening his collar.

      Controlling herself with a violent effort, Thoma went up to her father, who was staring into his open hands.

      "Father! What have you done?" cried she. He looked at her. There was a terrible change in his face. Is this the look of a man at the moment that he has killed another?

      Thoma laid her hand on his shoulder. He shook it off and said: "Let me alone." He was afraid of her, and she of him.

      At this moment it came to pass that father and daughter lost each other.

      "He's dead! His skull is broken!" called the hostler, Fidelis, who, with Anton, had lifted Vetturi up.

      With eyes cast on the ground, Thoma went to the house. Landolin left the yard, and went to the spring on the other side of the road.

      The people in the house, who had come to give their congratulations, hastened out. With lamentation and mourning they carried Vetturi home to his mother.

      Landolin's yard was suddenly still and forsaken; only a little pool of blood, near the heap of paving-stones, showed what had happened there. The sparrows and chickens had gathered round. The head-servant Tobias drove them off, and quickly swept everything away. He then threw the stone and the broom into the drain.

      CHAPTER XVI

      When Anton returned Landolin was still at the spring, holding his hands under its broad stream of water.

      "How is it?" he asked, turning round.

      "He is dead; he gives no sign of life," replied Anton.

      Landolin shook the water from his hands fiercely, and shaking his head slowly, said:

      "You saw it, Anton? You had just come up. The stone didn't touch him; he fell down at the sound of my voice."

      Before Anton could reply, Landolin asked: "Was his mother at home?"

      "Yes, she had just come in, and it was terrible when she threw herself on her son's body and cried out: 'Vetturi! open your eyes, Vetturi! Open your mouth, here is some brandy! Drink, do drink!'"

      "I, too, must drink something," replied Landolin; and placing his lips to the trough, he drank long. Indeed, it was plain that he purposely allowed the water to splash into his face, and as he slowly wiped it dry, he said:

      "Go to Thoma, now! I'll soon follow you."

      Anton obeyed. He found Thoma standing near the porch by the flowers, picking off the dead leaves of the rosemary, the yellow jessamine, and the carnations. She did not look round.

      "Thoma, here I am; don't you see me?" cried he.

      "Yes, I see you," answered Thoma. Her voice and her face, which she now turned toward Anton, were changed; and her eyes, which before had been so fearless, now wandered uneasily here and there.

      "I see you," she continued, "I see the flowers, I see the trees and the sky. Everything pretends to be alive, but everything is dead."

      "Thoma, you are always so strong and resolute. Control yourself. I know it is sad and distressing, but for the sake of a person who is dead-"

      "It is not only that a person has been killed; he, you, I, my father, all, all have received a deathblow."

      "Thoma, don't excite yourself so, you are always so sensible. You know I have been in the war, and have seen many-"

      "Yes, yes, it is true; you too have killed men. When he was still alive you were so tender-hearted toward him, and now that he is dead you are so hard. Say, am I still in my right mind?"

      "You are, if you will only control yourself."

      "I'll try, thank you. Do you think that my father, that any one of us, can ever be happy again for a single minute?"

      "Certainly! Your father has done nothing."

      "Who then has? Is Vetturi not dead?"

      "He is dead, but he was hurt by falling on the paving-stones. Yes, he was."

      "Anton!" cried Thoma, intensely excited, "Anton, you're not saying that yourself, some one else is speaking through you. Did my father tell you that?"

      Anton trembled, and Thoma continued: "Anton, for my sake you are speaking falsely. You lie! There he stands, and has such true eyes, so honest, and yet will lie. How can I now believe your Yes before the altar? Anton, you're telling a lie."

      With tremulous voice, Anton replied:

      "Thoma, I'm-I'm a soldier." His hand touched the medal of honor upon his breast.

      "Take that off," cried Thoma. "Go! go away! Even you can tell a lie. Go! go!"

      "Thoma! I forgive you. In affliction one turns against his dearest friend-"

      "You're no more my dearest friend. I'll not have your forgiveness. Go away forever and ever. I have no part in you, and you shall have no part in me."

      She rushed away and locked herself in her bedroom. Anton stood for a time benumbed, then knocked at her door, and spoke lovingly to her. She made no answer. He threatened to break open the door unless she gave some sign. Then the bolt was drawn; the door opened a little way; and at his feet fell the engagement ring. The door was again closed and bolted; Anton picked up the ring and went away.

      CHAPTER XVII

      Landolin turned away from the spring and went into the yard. He stopped a moment at the dog's kennel, and said to himself: "Chained! Chained!"

      Did he feel, and did he wish to say that henceforth he himself was in chains?

      He unfastened the dog, and it followed him into the living-room. No one was there. Landolin sat down in the easy chair, nervously grasped its arms, and moved his hands over them as if to convince himself that they were still there. Then he pulled up the loose tops of his boots, as though making ready for a walk. He arose, but went only as far as the table, which he repeatedly rubbed with his hands, as though trying to wipe something off. With a peremptory voice he called to have the supper brought. It was soon ready. His wife sat down beside him. She said nothing; she seemed comforted, even delighted, that her husband was willing to eat; and she forced herself to eat with him.

      Landolin told the maid to call Thoma and Anton to supper. The maid returned with the answer that Anton had gone away, and that Thoma sent word that she was not coming. At this, Landolin seized his fork, and struck it through the cloth, deep into the hard table. His wife arose,