I turned round towards my landlord. He had the greatest trouble to keep himself from laughing out loudly. “Did you see the old chap?” he whispered. “Ah Lord! did you see the old chap? He is sitting looking on,” and he placed himself once more before the keyhole. I went over to the window, and sat down. This sight had brought all my thoughts into merciless disorder, and put an end to my bright mood. Well, what concern was it of mine? When the husband himself agreed to it, ay, even found his greatest diversion in it, there was no reason why I should take it to heart. And as far as the old fellow was concerned, well, the old fellow was, once for all, an old fellow, and no more. Perhaps he didn’t even notice it. Maybe that he just sat and dozed. God knows, he may have been dead; it would not surprise me in the least if he were dead; I would have no scruples of conscience on this score. I took forth my papers once more, and determined to thrust all irrelevant impressions aside. I had left off right in the middle of a sentence in the inquisitor’s address--“Thus dictate God and the law to me, thus dictates also the counsel of my wise men, thus dictate I and my own conscience....” I looked out of the window to think over what his conscience should dictate to him. A little row reached me from the room inside. Well, it was no affair of mine anyway. Besides, the old chap was surely dead--died perhaps this morning about four; it was therefore entirely and totally indifferent to me what noise arose. Why the devil should I sit thinking about it? Keep quiet now! “Thus dictate I and my own conscience....” But everything conspired against me; the man over at the keyhole did not stand quiet a second. I could now and then hear his stifled laughter, and see how he shook. Outside in the street, too, something was taking place that disturbed me. A little lad sat and amused himself in the sun on the opposite side of the pavement. He was happy and in fear of no danger--just sat and knotted together a lot of paper streamers, and injured no one. Suddenly he jumps up and begins to curse; he goes backwards to the middle of the street and catches sight of a man, a grown-up man, with a red beard, who is leaning out of an open window in the second storey, and who spat down on his head. The little chap cried with rage, and swore impatiently up at the window; and the man laughed in his face. Perhaps five minutes passed in this way. I turned aside to avoid seeing the little lad’s tears.