After some deliberation he decided to go down to the village. The people would not offer him any molestation, probably, unless he gave them cause to suspect him, and he resolved to be constantly upon his guard.
Descending from the bluff, he walked along the beach, and finally entered the little burg.
It was rather a rough-looking place, built up of weather-worn wooden shanties, a few stores, and a sort of tavern.
There were, however, two imposing residences, on opposite sides of the only street, which were built of stone, and set down in large shaded lawns.
Passing up the street, Fritz was the target for many curious glances of rough-looking men, who sat in their doorways, but, paying no attention to them, he entered the tavern and purchased his breakfast, to which he was able to do full justice.
Afterward he came out in the bar-room and sat down.
A half a dozen rough-looking fellows were lounging about, who, to judge from their looks, were in the habit of ingulfing more grog than was good for them.
Then the landlord, who kept a close watch over them, was the fattest specimen of manhood Fritz had seen; his girth was something enormous. He was not a villainous-looking man, like the rest, and this fact impressed Fritz more favorably than anything else he saw about the premises.
During the forenoon a well-dressed, fine-looking man, with iron-gray hair and mustache, galloped up to the tavern on horseback. He looked as if he had been reared in luxury, for there was that haughtiness of mien that betokened the arrogant aristocrat.
"Good-morning, John," he said, as the tavern-keeper waddled to the door. "Will you send up a basket of champagne during the day, and a barrel of good ale—the champy for her ladyship, the countess, you know, and the ale for the villagers. Going to have a sort of a jollification at the lawn to-night, you know, in honor of the arrival of the countess, and want you all to turn out."