The carriage stopped, but not a human being appeared. The house-dog, who rattled his chain, barking loudly, a flock of chickens that had taken refuge from the rain beneath the projecting roof of a carriage-house, and the cows, lowing loudly in the stables, were apparently the only inmates of the place. Otto opened the carriage-door, while the coachman cracked his whip impatiently. The Freiherr and Aunt Thekla slowly alighted, Johanna followed them curiously,--and still no one was to be seen. Without more ado, the Freiherr ascended the three worn steps of the entrance-hall. "Come, I know the custom of the country," he said. And, turning to a door on the left of the long dim hall, hung around beneath the ceiling with the faded wreaths of many a harvest-home, he opened it without knocking. A hot current of air from a stove made itself felt, and a cat ran past them. "Who's there?" a sharp voice asked, and from the other end of the room there approached the haggard, bent figure of a woman in the dress of a peasant, leaning upon a crutch. The Freiherr bade her good-day, and then shouted into her ear an inquiry for the farmer. "My son is away in town at the yearly market," she yelled back. "And he has taken his two daughters and the house-maid with him. No one is at home, and I am too old. I do not know about anything." And as she spoke she turned her deep-set evil little eyes from one to another of the strange faces. The Freiherr stooped to shout again into her ear: "We want to see the house, but we will not trouble you; send one of the servants with us." "Servants!" she repeated. "Do you know where to find the lazy things? When my son is away there is nothing done." "Well, then, we'll go alone," the Freiherr interrupted her, impatiently. "You know who I am,--I was here before." "Yes, yes; you are the old lord from down there at Dönninghausen, who wants to buy Tannhagen," the old woman replied, and her little brown eyes twinkled more maliciously than before. "You'd better let it alone; you'll have no joy of it." "Come, why should we stand listening to the old witch?" said the Freiherr. "We will look first at the upper rooms; they are not in as poor repair as these down here." As he spoke, he went out into the hall; the rest followed him, with the old woman hobbling behind. "Of course you can buy Tannhagen," she went on, eagerly. "My son says that the last lord of Tannhagen is dead, and there must be some one to own it. But why do you not leave it as it has been? To turn out my son, who has always paid his rent punctually in bad years as well as in good ones, is a sin and a shame; yes, it is a sin and a shame!" The Freiherr looked angrily round, and, without speaking, offered his sister his arm to mount the narrow wooden staircase that creaked at every step. Otto and Johanna tried to appease the old woman, who, however, did not, or would not, understand what they said.