"Where are you going?"
"That's no business of any one's."
The Schrandeners, even in their wrath, could not resist making fun of the drunkard, but Merckel signed to them to let him go in peace.
"He is going to scratch up his gun from the dungheap," he explained. "Still, what good will it do?" he added with a sigh, while his eyes wandered uneasily to the door. "He'll take care not to deliver himself into our hands at night. Tomorrow, at dawn of day, he'll come, when none of you can defend yourselves, and hand you over to your executioners, along with my son Felix, and none of you will see Schranden again. So drink your last, children--take leave of old Father Merckel---- Ah! there comes Amalie," he said, interrupting himself, and the lackadaisical expression of his face changed to one of cheerful expectancy.
The door was thrown open, and Amalie burst in greatly excited. She whispered something hurriedly in his ear.
He beamed, and folded his fat hands as if in prayer.
"Children," he cried, "there is yet a judge in Heaven. The Baron is in the village."
The Schrandeners rose from their seats yelling with delight.
"Where is he? Who has seen him?"
"Tell them, Amalie!" he urged the barmaid, and sank back exhausted, like a person who is satisfied that his day's work is done.