The men looked at one another; they were greatly perplexed, and seemed hardly to understand what was going on.
“But, Herr Counsellor,” said the burgomaster, “we have a pastor. He went only an hour ago to the city to see his most gracious majesty the king, and to-morrow he will return.”
“You are mistaken, Herr Burgomaster,” assured the smiling counsellor and grandmaster of the Freemasons. “The Jesuit will not return.”
The last words fell like a thunderbolt among them.
“What?—O ho!” exclaimed the men. “We shall see! Our pastor is the Rev. Herr von Eberstein; we wish no other.”
“Unfortunately, Herr von Eberstein is a foreigner,” replied the counsellor, shrugging his shoulders. “I introduce to you a pious priest whose zeal will certainly bring a blessing upon the parish.”
The priest bowed and smiled, but the villagers evidently did not like him.
“What is your name, if we may be allowed to ask?”
“My name is Stechapfel” (thorn-apple), answered the priest.
“What! Stechapfel?” cried they all, drawing back.