Second-hand umbrellas! Well, what next!
Mravucsán, who was asthmatic, began to breathe heavily, and was just going to say something disparaging to the stranger, when some runaway horses attracted his attention, as they rushed across the market-place, dragging a handsome phaeton with them.
"That will never be fit for use again," said the smith, as he stood looking on, his hands folded under his leather apron.
The phaeton had probably been dashed against a wall, for the left side was smashed to bits, the shaft was broken, one of the wheels had been left somewhere on the road, and the reins were dragging on the ground between the two horses.
"They are beautiful animals," said Galba.
"They belong to the priest of Glogova," answered Mravucsán. "I'm afraid some one may have been thrown out of the carriage; let us go and see."
During this time the number of customers in Mrs. Müncz's shop had increased, and as they had to be attended to, she first turned to the stranger before serving them, and said:
"There are a lot of old umbrellas somewhere on the loft, but they would not do for a fine gentleman like you."
"I should like to look at them all the same."
Mrs. Müncz had her hand on the door to let her customers in, and only answered without turning round: