"Good-morning," said one, in rather labored German; "is the steward at home?"
"Where is the steward? where is Bratzky?" cried the others, impatient as their prancing horses.
"If you mean the former steward," replied Karl, dryly, "he will not run away from you though you do not find him here."
"What do you mean?" inquired the nearest horseman; "I beg that you will explain yourself."
"If you wish to speak to Mr. Bratzky, you must take the trouble of riding to the town. He is in custody."
The horses reared, and their riders closed round Karl, while Polish ejaculations were heard on all sides. "In custody! On what account?"
"Ask my master," replied Karl, pointing to the doorway in the tower, where Anton stood.
"Have I the pleasure of speaking to the new proprietor?" inquired one of the party, taking off his hat. Anton looked down in amazement. The voice and face reminded him of a white-gloved gentleman whom he had met once before in a critical hour.
"I am the Baron Rothsattel's agent," replied he. The horse was pulled back, and the rider spoke a few words to his companions, upon which an older man with a fox-like face cried, "We are anxious to speak on private business with the late steward. We hear that he is in custody, and beg you will tell us why."
"He tried to evade by flight the surrender of the property to me, and he is suspected of dishonest dealings."