The row of country carts moved slowly by. One or two stopped before the shop, and the carters offered vegetables for sale. The old woman would have nothing to say to them, but waved them on irritably. Three had thus stopped and again proceeded, and an impatient grumble broke from the old lady as a fourth, a covered waggon, drew up before the door.
"We don't want anything: go on, go on with you!" she cried shrilly.
The carter got down from his seat without heeding her, and walked round to the back.
"Here you are, sir," he cried. "Nineteen, Königstrasse."
A yawn was heard, and the long sigh a man gives as he stretches himself in the mingled luxury and pain of an awakening after sound refreshing sleep.
"All right; I'll get down," came in answer from inside.
"Ah, it's the Count!" said the old lady to her daughter in satisfied tones. "What will he say, though, about that rogue Bauer?"
Rupert of Hentzau put his head out from under the waggon-tilt, looked up and down the street, gave the carter a couple of crowns, leapt down, and ran lightly across the pavement into the little shop. The waggon moved on.
