As soon as the officer had left the room, Mr. Schroeter said to Anton, "I have a surprise for you, dear Wohlfart, which will, I fear, be an unwelcome one. I wish to leave you here in my place." Anton drew nearer in amazement. "There is no relying on our agent at a time like this," continued the merchant, "and I have, during the last few days, rejoiced to discover how perfectly I can depend upon you. What you have just done to save my head-piece will be unforgotten as long as I live. And now draw a writing-table here beside me; we have still some plans to arrange." The next morning a post-chaise stood before the inn door, into which Mr. Schroeter was lifted by Anton. It was then drawn up to the side of the street till he had seen the wagons pass one by one out of the gateway. Then pressing Anton's hand once more, he said, "Your stay here may last weeks, nay, months. Your work will be very disagreeable, and often fruitless. But I repeat it, do not be too anxious; I trust to your decision as to my own. And do not be afraid of incurring contingent loss, if you can only get unsafe debtors to pay up. This place is devastated and lost to us for the future. Farewell till our happy meeting at home." Thus Anton remained alone in the strange town, in a position where great trust imposed upon him great responsibility. He went back to his room, called the landlord, and at once made arrangements for his further stay there. The town was so filled with military that he preferred to remain in the small quarters that he had already occupied, and to put up with their inconveniences, having little expectation of changing for the better. It was indeed a devastated town which Anton now explored. A few days back, crowds of passionately-excited men had filled the streets, and every kind of daring enterprise was to be read on their wild faces. Where was now the haughty defiance, the thirst of battle, that inspired all those thousands?