The car stood still before Kalondai's house, the doors and windows of which were shut, as indeed were the windows and doors of all the houses, and closed they must remain till the pealings of the church-bells gave them the signal to reopen.
At the knocking of the curator, Valentine Kalondai appeared on the balcony.
"What do the citizens require of me?"
"Admittance with our car and our tools," answered the curator.
"And what am I to do with your car and your tools?"
"Valentine Kalondai, the citizens of the town of Kassa have this day, of their own free will, chosen you their sheriff. These tools which we have brought with us are the symbols of our prosperity, which we now intrust to your safe keeping. For a whole year to come the care of our peace and our prosperity lies in your hands. But on this car, according to ancient law and custom, we have brought you eighteen boards: six for your coffin, in case you die in the service of our city, but twelve for the fagots round your stake in case you betray the town wherein you were born. Will you admit us within your gates?"
"Come in, and welcome, in God's name!" said Valentine, and thereupon he opened the gate of his courtyard, and the heavy car lumbered rattling in.
Dame Sarah had overheard the conversation in the next room, and, through the closed window, said to pretty Michal:
"I know not how it is, but I am so delighted that my teeth chatter, and an ague shakes me."
"'Tis just the same with me," whispered pretty Michal.