“Yes,” replied the other, pushing back the dog, which fawned upon him.
“Come back here, Tristan,” called the servant, pulling the dog in by his collar, as he closed the door and re-entered the house.
The Councillor took the path to the station. He walked slowly, with bowed head and uneven step. He did not look like a man who was in the mood to join a merry crowd, and yet he was evidently going to his Club. “He wants to show himself; he doesn’t want to let people think that he has anything to be afraid of,” murmured the peddler, looking after him sharply. Then his eyes suddenly dimmed and a light sigh was heard, with another murmur, “Poor man.” The Councillor reached the station and disappeared within its door. The train arrived and departed a few moments later. Kniepp must have really gone to the city, for although the man behind the pillar waited for some little time, the Councillor did not return—a contingency that the peddler had not deemed improbable.
About half an hour after the departure of the train the watcher came out of his hiding place and walked noisily past the gate. What he expected, happened. The dog rushed up to the bars, barking loudly, but when the peddler had taken a silk muffler from the pack on his back and held it out to the animal, the noise ceased and the dog’s anger turned to friendliness. Tristan was quite gentle, put his huge head up to the bars to let the stranger pat it, and seemed not at all alarmed when the latter rang the bell.
The young man who had opened the door for the Councillor came out from a wing of the castle. The peddler looked so frozen and yet so venerable that the youth had not the heart to turn him away. Possibly he was glad of a little diversion for his own sake.
“Who do you want to see?” he asked.
“I want to speak to the maid, the one who attended your dead mistress.”
“Oh, then you know—?”
“I know of the misfortune that has happened here.”
“And you think that Nanette might have something to sell to you?”