no means the least. He must have understood news gathering thoroughly,
for he soon returned and informed Heinz, who had sought shelter from the
rain under the broad bow window of a lofty house, that the bearers were
just carrying to his parents' home a young man whose thread of life had
been suddenly severed by a stab through the breast in a duel. After the
witnesses had taken the corpse to the leech Otto, in the Ledergasse, and
the latter said that the youth was dead, they had quickly dispersed,
fearing a severe punishment on account of the breach of the peace. The
murdered man was Ulrich Vorchtel, the oldest son of the wealthy Berthold
Vorchel, who collected the imperial taxes.

Again Heinz shuddered. He had seen the unfortunate young man the
day before yesterday at the fencing school, and yesterday, full of
overflowing mirth, at the dance, and knew that he, too, had fought in
the battle of Marchfield. His foe must have been master of the art of
wielding the sword, for the dead man had been a skilful fencer, and was
tall and stalwart in figure.

When the servant ended his story Heinz stood still in the darkness for a
time, silently listening. The bells had begun to ring, the blast of the
watchman's horn blended with the wailing notes summoning aid, and in two
places--near the Thiergartenthor and the Frauenthor--the sky was
crimsoned by the reflection of a conflagration, probably kindled by some
flash of lightning, which flickered over the clouds, alternately rising
and falling, sometimes deeper and anon paler in hue. Throngs of people,
shouting "Fire!" pressed from the cross streets into the square. The
stillness of the night was over.

When Heinz again turned to Biberli he said in a hollow tone: