At this instant the quivering tones of a post-horn were heard, and an open caleche appeared and stopped before the hotel with two large black travelling-trunks upon it, and the postilion upon the box blowing the popular air, “Es ritten drei Reuter zum Thore hinaus!”
The host observed the empty carriage with a smile, but the servants asked themselves astonished what it meant, and as they turned and saw Count St. Julien descending the stairs, they were startled. He offered them the usual trinkgeld, entered the carriage, and rolled away with a commanding nod.
The host seemed speechless with astonishment, and stood as if rooted to the spot. The servants stared after the carriage until it turned the corner; when just then a post-horn was heard playing the agreeable melody of “Drei Reuter,” and a travelling-carriage with two large black trunks drove up to the door.
The servants turned pale, looking shyly toward the stairs. Slowly and with great dignity Count St. Julien descended, greeting them with a gentlemanly nod as he passed, and, extending his white hand with a trinkgeld, mounted his carriage, and drove away.
The host stood as if stunned, outside the door, looking right and left with unspeakable terror. The servants tremblingly fixed their eyes upon the stairs, no longer possessing the power to move, but heard the post-horn, and the carriage which drove up to the door the third time. Slowly and proudly Count St. Julien advanced. It was the same cold, grave face, with the thick black beard, and the powdered peruke, the curls of which overshadowed the brow and cheeks. He wore exactly the same dark-brown cloak over the black velvet dress. The white hand, with broad lace wrist-ruffles, reached them also a trinkgeld.
This time the fellows had scarcely self-possession sufficient to take the present, for every thing swam before their eyes, and their hearts one moment almost ceased to beat, and then palpitated with the feverish rapidity of terror.
“I would run away,” murmured the chief waiter, as Count St. Julien for the fourth time drove away, “if my feet were not riveted to the floor.”
“If I could move mine I would have gone long ago,” groaned the second waiter, the clear drops standing upon his forehead. “It is witchcraft! Oh, Heaven! they are coming again, playing the ‘Drei Reuter.’”
The count descended the stairs for the fifth time, whispered to the hostler, who was quite engrossed counting his money, handed the trinkgeld to the pale fellows by the door, and mounted his carriage, driving away amid the merry peals of the post-horn.
“Julius,” murmured the steward, softly, “give my hair a good pulling, that I may awake from this horrible dream.”