Yes, to his uncle! Petrowitsch made a point of invariably leaving the village when a funeral took place there—not from compassion—but it was a disagreeable sight—and the very day after the ruin of the Landlord, Petrowitsch left home, yielding up on this occasion the unripe cherries in his avenue, as a harvest to the passers by, and he did not return till winter had fairly set in, and a new landlord settled in the "Golden Lion," the old proprietors having gone to live in a house adjoining that of their son-in-law, the wood merchant, in a neighbouring town. The old Landlord of the "Lion" had borne his fate with almost admirable equanimity; once only, at a little distance from the village, when the Techniker drove past him in his calèche, with his two chesnuts, the Landlord lost his usual phlegmatic composure, but no one saw him stagger and stumble into a ditch, where he lay for a long time, till at last he managed to scramble out.
Petrowitsch walked now in a different direction. He no longer passed Lenz's house, nor went to the wood, which was, indeed, by this time nearly cut down.
Lenz used to sit up late calculating; he could devise nothing, and soon a sum was offered to him, but it seemed to him as burning as if it had been coined in the Devil's workshop.
Ernestine's husband came one day with a stranger to the Morgenhalde, and said:—"Lenz, here is a person who will buy your house."
"What do you mean? my house?"
"Yes, you said so yourself; it is of much less value now that it formerly was, for since the wood has been felled, its situation is very dangerous, but still proper precautions may be taken."
"Who, pray, said I wished to sell my house?"
"Your wife."
"What? my wife? Come in: Annele, did you say I would sell my house?"
"Not exactly; I only said to Ernestine, that if her husband knew of a respectable inn in a good situation, we would buy it, and then sell our house here."