At an early hour he started, that he might put an end to his suspense.  He had not yet reached the archway before the shattering news burst upon him.  From that moment he remembered nothing.  But his mother described his ghastly agitation, as, throwing himself upon her neck, he told her, through dreadful sobs, the calamity which had fallen.  She did her best to comfort him; but he grew wilder and wilder, and rolled upon the ground in the agony of an immeasurable despair.  She trembled for his reason and his life.  And when the messengers came to seek him, she spoke but the simple truth in saying that he was like one distracted.  Yet no sooner had a glimpse of light dawned on him that some vague suspicion rested on him in reference to the murder, than he started up, flung away his agitation, and, with a calmness which was awful, answered every question, and seemed nerved for every trial.  From that moment not a sob escaped him until, in the narrative of the night’s events, he came to that part which told of the sudden disclosure of his bereavement.  And the simple, straightforward manner in which he told this tale, with a face entirely bloodless, and eyes that seemed to have withdrawn all their light inwards, made a great impression on the audience, which was heightened into sympathy when the final sob, breaking through the forced calmness, told of the agony which was eating its fiery way through the heart.

The story was not only plausible in itself, but accurately tallied with what before had seemed like the criminating evidence of the maid; tallied, moreover, precisely as to time, which would hardly have been the case had the story been an invention.  As to the waistcoat which had figured so conspicuously in all the rumors, it appeared that suspicion had monstrously exaggerated the facts.  Instead of a waistcoat plashed with blood—­as popular imagination pictured it—­it was a gray waistcoat, with one spot and a slight smear of blood, which admitted of a very simple explanation.  Three days before, Franz had cut his left hand in cutting some bread; and to this the maid testified, because she was present when the accident occurred.  He had not noticed that his waistcoat was marked by it until the next day, and had forgotten to wash out the stains.

People outside shook skeptical heads at this story of the cut hand.  The bloody waistcoat was not to be disposed of in that easy way.  It had fixed itself too strongly in their imagination.  Indeed, my belief is that even could they have seen the waistcoat, its insignificant marks would have appeared murderous patches to their eyes.  I had seen it, and my report was listened to with ill-concealed disbelief, when not with open protestation.  And when Kerkel was discharged as free from all suspicion, there was a low growl of disappointed wrath heard from numerous groups.