"How? Annette, you too?" I exclaimed; "this is too much!"
"No, no!" she cried, throwing her arms about my neck, "you are not one of them—you are too good for that. Still, you are a brave man just the same to have come back."
I explained to her that I should have died of cold outside, and that this alone had decided me. After a few minutes, however, we parted so as not to arouse Mother Grédel's suspicions, and having made certain that none of the windows opened on a wall, and that the bolt on the door was a good one, I went to bed and soon was fast asleep.
II
When I drew the curtain of my bed next morning, I saw that the window-panes were white with snow, which was heaped up also on the sill without. I thought mournfully of my poor comrades' fate. How they must have suffered from cold! Old Bremer and big Berthe especially—my heart ached for them.
While I was absorbed in these sad reflections a strange noise arose outside. It drew near the inn, and, not without fear and trembling, I jumped out of bed and rushed to the window, to see what new danger threatened.
They were bringing the terrible band to confront it with Mme. Grédel Dick. My poor companions came down the street between two files of policemen, and followed by a perfect avalanche of ragamuffins, yelling and hissing like true savages. There was poor Bremer, handcuffed to his son Ludwig, then Carl and Wilfrid, and last of all stout Berthe, who walked by herself, lamenting her fate all the while in heart-rending tones:
"For Heaven's sake, gentlemen, for Heaven's sake, have pity on a poor innocent harpist! I—kill! I—rob! Oh! good Lord! can it be possible?"
And she wrung her hands. The others looked doleful enough as they walked with heads bent, and dishevelled hair hanging over their faces.
The procession, rabble and all, turned into the dark alley which led to the inn. Presently the guards drove out the eager crowd, who remained outside in the mud, with their noses flattened against the window-panes.