"What the deuce does this mean?" cried Karl, jumping down from the carriage.
"I am going to feed," replied the servant, sulkily, in a foreign accent.
"I am anxious to know how that will be done," said Karl. "There is not the shadow of a bag of provender."
The horses, however, soon proved that they could live without corn; they stretched down their shaggy heads, and began to pull the grass and weeds at the edge of the pool, sometimes taking a draught of the dirty water. Meanwhile the servant drew a bundle from under his seat, settled himself under the lee of an alder-bush, and, taking his knife, cut his bread and cheese without even glancing at the travelers.
"I say, Ignatius or Jacob," cried Karl, sharply, "how long will this breakfast of yours last?"
"An hour," replied the man, munching away.
"And how far is it from here to the estate?"
"Six miles, or maybe more."
"You can make nothing of him," said Anton; "we must put up with the customs of the country;" and, leaving the carriage, they went to look on at the horses feeding.
Anton is on his way to the Polish property. He is now the baron's agent. Anxious months have the last proved to him. The parting from his principal and the firm had been painful in the extreme. For some time before it, indeed, Anton had found himself alone in the midst of his colleagues. The quiet Baumann still remained his friend, but the others considered him a castaway. The merchant received his resignation with icy coldness; and even in the hour of parting, his hand lay impassive as metal in Anton's grasp. Since then, our hero had undertaken several journeys to the capital and to creditors in the family's behalf, and now he was on his way to set the new estate in order, accompanied by Karl, whom he had induced to become the baron's bailiff.