presence of her companion relieved her from the terrors with which the
darkness and the solitude had tortured her. Instead of watching for new
dangers, she listened while Valentin explained how it happened that she
found him still awake. He had helped hang the banners and lamps tinder
the lindens, and when the storm arose he assisted in removing the best
pieces. In return a jug of wine, with some bread and sausages, had been
given to him, and he had just begun to enjoy them with two comrades.

The Hiltner house was soon reached. Nothing had troubled Barbara during
the nocturnal walk since the fisherman had accompanied her.

Her heart was lighter as she rapped with the knocker on the syndic's
door; but, although she repeated the summons several times, not a sound
was heard in the silent house.

Valentin had seen the Hiltners' two men-servants with the litters under
the lindens, and Barbara thought that perhaps the maids might have gone
to the scene of the festival to carry headkerchiefs and cloaks to the
ladies before the outbreak of the storm. That the deaf old grandmother
did not hear her was easily understood.

The Hiltners could not have returned, so she must wait.

First she paced impatiently to and fro in the rain, then sat upon a
curbstone which seemed to be protected from the shower by the roof. But
ever and anon a larger stream of water poured down upon her from the jaws
of a hideous monster in which the gutter ended than from the black
clouds, and, dripping wet, she at last leaned against the door, which was
better shielded by the projecting lintel, while the fisherman inquired
about the absent occupants of the house.