"I say, what a swell coffin! Did you see it?"
"Yes! But did you see that there was no name on it?"
"Wasn't there?"
"No! Didn't you see it? It was quite plain."
"Why was that, then?"
"Don't you know? Because he was a bastard...."
The whip cracked, and the coach rumbled off. Falk's eyes strayed to the window; he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Struve, who had already removed some of the sheets, blowing out the candles; and he saw the two cubs standing by the side of her, each with a glass of wine in his hand.
The coach rattled along, through street after street; nobody attempted to speak. Struve, sitting with the coffin on his knees, looked embarrassed; it was still daylight; he longed to make himself invisible.
It was a long journey to the churchyard, but it finally came to an end. They arrived.
A row of coaches stood before the gate. They bought wreaths and the gravedigger took possession of the coffin. After a lengthy walk, the small procession stopped quite at the back on the north side of the churchyard, close to a new sandfield.