The Deans Watch | Page 2

gallop, had already crossed the broad
Avenue d'Electeur. An immense flock of crows flew up from the plain
and seemed to be following him, filling the heavens with their cawing.
We reached Heidelberg at about seven o'clock, and we did indeed see
Pimenti's magnificent posters on all the walls of the city, which read:

"Grand Concert Solo."
That same evening in visiting the various inns, we met many old
comrades from the Black Forest, who engaged us to play in their troupe.
There was old Bremer, the 'cellist, his two sons, Ludwig and Karl, both
good second violins; Heinrich Siebel, the clarionet player, and Bertha
with her harp; Wilfred with his double-bass and I with my violin made
up the number. We agreed to travel together after the Christmas concert
and divide the proceeds among us. Wilfred had already hired a room
for us both on the sixth floor of the Pied de Mouton Tavern, which
stood halfway down the Holdergasse, and for it he was to pay four
kreutzers a day. Properly speaking, it was nothing but a garret, but
fortunately there was a stove in it, and we lighted a fire to dry
ourselves.
As we were comfortably seated, toasting chestnuts over the fire and
enjoying a jug of wine, little Annette, the housemaid, appeared in a
black calico dress and velvet turban, with rosy cheeks and lips like a
cluster of cherries. She came running up the stairs, gave a hasty knock
and threw herself joyfully into my arms. I had known the pretty little
girl for a long time; we were of the same village, and if truth must be
told, her sparkling eyes and frolicsome ways had quite won my heart. "I
came up to have a little talk with you," she said, dropping into a chair.
"I saw you come up a moment ago and here I am."
She began to chatter away, asking for this one or that one of the village
and hardly giving me time to reply. Every now and then she would
pause and look at me with the greatest tenderness. We might have
continued thus until the next morning had not Dame Grédel Dick begun
to call from the foot of the stairs: "Annette! Annette! Are you never
coming?" "Right away, ma'am!" answered the poor child reluctantly.
She tapped me lightly on the cheek and ran toward the door; but just as
she was crossing the threshold, she suddenly stopped. "By the way,"
she cried, "I was forgetting to tell you; but perhaps you have heard
about it?" "About what?" "The death of our precentor, Zahn." "But how
does that, affect us?" "To be sure; only see that your passport is all right
Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock they will come to examine it.

Everybody is being arrested in the last fortnight. The precentor was
assassinated last night in the library of Saint Christopher's Chapel, and
only a week ago, old Ulmet Elias, the sacrificer, was similarly
murdered in the Rue des Juifs. Some days before that Christina Haas,
the old midwife, was also killed, as well as the agate dealer Seligmann
of the Rue Durlach. So look out for yourself, dear Kasper, and see that
your passport is all right."
While she was speaking, Dame Grédel's voice came again from below:
"Annette! will you come here? The good-for-nothing child, leaving me
to do all the work!"
And the sound of men's voices calling for wine, beer, ham, or sausages
mingled with her own. Further delay was out of the question. Annette
hastened down the stairs, crying as she went: "Goodness, ma'am! what
has happened? One would think that the house were afire!" Wilfred
crossed the room and closed the door behind her; then returning to his
chair, we looked at each other, not without a feeling of apprehension.
"That is singular news," he said; "your passport is all right, I suppose?"
"Certainly," And I produced my papers. "Good! Mine is too, for I had it
made out just before leaving. But nevertheless, these murders do not
augur us any good. I am afraid we shall not be able to do much
business here; many of the families will be in mourning; and then, too,
the bother and pettifogging of the authorities." "Pshaw! you take too
gloomy a view of it," I replied.
We continued to discuss these singular happenings until after midnight.
The glow from our little stove lighted up the angle of the roof, the
square window with its three cracked panes, the straw strewn about the
floor, the blackened beams propped against each other, and the little
firwood table that cast its uncertain shadow upon the worm-eaten
ceiling. From time to time, a mouse, enticed by the warmth, would dart
like an arrow along the wall. The wind