Fronting the tower, which was of white marble, a high tent had been pitched on a green platform semicircled by pines.  Torches were stuck in clefts of the trees, or in the fork of the branches, or held by boys and men, and there were clearly men at work beneath the tent at a busy rate.  We could hear the paviour’s breath escape from them.  Outside the ring of torchbearers and others was a long cart with a dozen horses harnessed to it.  All the men appeared occupied too much for chatter and laughter.  What could be underneath the tent?  Seeing a boy occasionally lift one of the flapping corners, we took licence from his example to appease our curiosity.  It was the statue of a bronze horse rearing spiritedly.  The workmen were engaged fixing its pedestal in the earth.

Our curiosity being satisfied, we held debate upon our immediate prospects.  The difficulty of making sure of a bed when you are once detached from your home, was the philosophical reflection we arrived at, for nothing practical presented itself.  To arm ourselves we pulled out Miss Goodwin’s paper.  ‘Gasthof is the word!’ cried Temple. ’ Gasthof, zimmer, bett; that means inn, hot supper, and bed.  We’ll ask.’  We asked several of the men.  Those in motion shot a stare at us; the torchbearers pointed at the tent and at an unseen height, muttering ‘Morgen.’  Referring to Miss Goodwin’s paper we discovered this to signify the unintelligible word morning, which was no answer at all; but the men, apparently deeming our conduct suspicious, gave us to understand by rather menacing gestures that we were not wanted there, so we passed into the dusk of the trees, angry at their incivility.  Had it been Summer we should have dropped and slept.  The night air of a sharp season obliged us to keep active, yet we were not willing to get far away from the torches.  But after a time they were hidden; then we saw one moving ahead.  The holder of it proved to be a workman of the gang, and between us and him the strangest parley ensued.  He repeated the word morgen, and we insisted on zimmer and bett.

‘He takes us for twin Caspar Hausers,’ sighed Temple.

‘Nein,’ said the man, and, perhaps enlightened by hearing a foreign tongue, beckoned for us to step at his heels.

His lodging was a woodman’s hut.  He offered us bread to eat, milk to drink, and straw to lie on:  we desired nothing more, and were happy, though the bread was black, the milk sour, the straw mouldy.

Our breakfast was like a continuation of supper, but two little girls of our host, whose heads were cased in tight-fitting dirty linen caps, munched the black bread and drank the sour milk so thankfully, while fixing solemn eyes of wonder upon us, that to assure them we were the same sort of creature as themselves we pretended to relish the stuff.  Rather to our amazement we did relish it.  ‘Mutter!’ I said to them.  They pointed to the room overhead.  Temple laid his cheek on his hand.  One of the little girls laid hers on the table.  I said ‘Doctor?’ They nodded and answered ‘Princess,’ which seemed perfectly good English, and sent our conjectures as to the state of their mother’s health astray.  I shut a silver English coin in one of their fat little hands.