"Under no circumstances must he come up here," said the Rathsherr, "he might be seen, and then everything would be discovered."
"Leave it to me, Mamsell," said Fritz, and made her a side wink, "I'll manage it."
They went; and Mamsell Westphalen sat alone in her sadness under her flitches of bacon and hams and sausages.
"Of what use are all these blessings," she said to herself, "when a person of my years has to take to flight."
After seeing Mamsell Westphalen into her place of safety, my uncle Herse went down again to the kitchen and cautioned Fritz Sahlmann once more against letting out anything, impressing his warning well on Fritz by a box on the ears. He then pulled the cape of his grey cloak over his cocked-hat and embroidered uniform collar, and crept cautiously out at the back-door like a cat out of a pigeon-house.
Scarcely had he put his head out of doors, when a screeching and yelling arose; and Hanchen and Corlin, who were going back into the kitchen, thinking that the coast was once more clear, flew asunder like two white doves when a hawk pounces down upon them.
"Hold your tongues! I am not going to do anything to you," cried my uncle Herse.
But what was the use of his saying that? The peasants, who had remained in the garden with their horses, looked round at the noise; and, seeing the disguised French officer, that is my uncle Herse, they all made for the green gate, and in a few moments not a man nor a hoof to draw the cannon was to be seen.
The Rathsherr now struck into a little side-path among the bushes, and whom should he meet but old Miller Voss with the valise under his arm.
"Good morning, Herr Rathsherr."