"Yes, Monsieur Stenger," replied the other, "we will never be rid of them. If I could poison them all, it would be a good deed."
I turned quietly, and said:
"I understand German: do not speak in such a manner."
The postmaster's pipe fell from his hand.
"You are very imprudent in your speech, Monsieur Kalkreuth," said the old man; "if others beside this young man had understood you, you know what would happen."
"It is only my way of talking," replied the postmaster. "What can you expect? When everything is taken from you—when you are robbed, year after year—it is but natural that you should at last speak bitterly."
The old man, who was none other than the pastor of Schweinheim, then said to me:
"Monsieur, your manner of acting is that of an honest man; believe me that Monsieur Kalkreuth is incapable of such a deed—of doing evil even to our enemies."
"I do believe it, sir," I replied, "or I should not eat so heartily of these sausages."
The postmaster, hearing these words, began to laugh, and, in the excess of his joy, cried: