flurried her that she felt muddled and stupid--felt that Rosa had pushed
her out of the house and her man was running away from her.

"Wait, wait!" she cried.

"No. I'll get my feet damp--you hurry."

It was easier when they came into the village. There were fences to cling
to, and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little path of
cinders had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.

The Gasthaus was very festive. Lights shone out from every window, wreaths
of fir twigs hung from the ledges. Branches decorated the front doors,
which swung open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his superiority by
bullying the waitresses, who ran about continually with glasses of beer,
trays of cups and saucers, and bottles of wine.

"Up the stairs--up the stairs!" boomed the landlord. "Leave your coats on
the landing."

Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far forgot
his rights as a husband as to beg his wife's pardon for jostling her
against the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody else.

Herr Brechenmacher's colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he entered
the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch and folded
her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife of a postman
and the mother of five children. Beautiful indeed was the Festsaal. Three
long tables were grouped at one end, the remainder of the floor space
cleared for dancing. Oil lamps, hanging from the ceiling, shed a warm,