"Good evening, Lenz!" said the landlord, in a sonorous voice, as if in these few words a vast deal was included; and when Lenz respectfully rose he gave him his hand, and said, "Don't rise or be on ceremony, remember you are in an inn." Then he nodded, as much as to say--"I have a high respect for you, and you are as sure of all proper condolence on my part, as if you held a threefold security for it." Then he went to his table and read the newspapers. Annele fetched her knitting, and seated herself beside Lenz, saying, politely--"With your permission!" She spoke much and cleverly, and was thought as good as she was clever. She seems both, and no one knows better how to make her game. When Lenz at last paid his score, she said: "I must say it vexes me to receive your money, I would far rather that you had considered yourself our guest. Now, good night! and don't grieve your heart out. I only wish I could comfort you. By the bye, I had almost forgotten to ask you when your great musical clock--which is supposed to be the finest that was ever made in this country--goes to Russia?" "I may receive a letter any day, desiring it to be sent off." "Will you let my mother and me come up to see it and hear it before it goes?" "I shall be highly honoured. Pray come whenever you choose." "Now, good night! sleep sound, and remember me to Franzl, and tell her that if she wants anything, she is to come to us for it." "Thank you very much--I won't fail to tell her." It was a good quarter of an hour's walk to Lenz's house, and a steep hill all the way. Today he was soon at home, however. He did not know why, but when he was once more alone in his room, he became very sorrowful. He gazed long out into the summer night--he did not know what he was thinking about. Here nothing is seen or heard of the world of human beings; the only object visible in the distance, on a far away hill, is a solitary cottage, where a blacksmith lives--a light sparkles up through the windows, but soon disappears. Those men who have no grief in their hearts can sleep. Not far from the house of the smith, a sawmill is heard through the stillness of the night, busily revolving from a current of air. The stars are shining brightly over the dark line of the forest, and on the spot where the moon has gone down behind the hills, a pale blue halo is visible, and the fleecy clouds in the sky are gently illuminated. Lenz supported his burning forehead on his hands: his pulses were beating--the world seems going round with him. No doubt the new wine is the cause of these sensations. "I ought not to have drunk wine at night. What a clever, good girl Annele is! Don't be a fool--What is she to you?--'Good night!--Sleep sound.'" He repeated her words gently, and indeed he did sleep soundly all night. CHAPTER IX. A PARLEY WITH FRIENDS.