"Stop! Whose burial is in question!"
"My father's."
"The Freiherr Eberhard von Schranden?"
"Yes."
"That man has been dead for seven years."
"Herr Pastor!"
"For seven years he lived ostracised from the society of his fellow-creatures. Seven years he practically rotted in the earth. Therefore, don't trouble me about him further."
"Herr Pastor, I was once your pupil. From your lips I first learnt the name of God. I always thought you a brave, upright man. I retract that opinion now; for what you have just been saying are lying, cowardly quibbles."
The old man drew himself up. His beard worked; his nostrils expanded. With lurid eyes he came nearer to Boleslav.
"My son," he said, "do I look like a man who would countenance a lie?"