Besides these voluntary spectators, others were here, by order of Herr Stiegle--three hundred peasants and laborers from the count's estate, middle-aged, sober men, who were to form an escort. "You are to keep order," he had said. "Our master and his bride shall be worthily received." He had said only this, but he knew they understood, and would do their duty if necessary. No one could foretell whether or not it would be necessary, not even this cool, calculating man, who knew the townspeople so well. He comforted himself with the thought that, if painful scenes occurred, it would not be his fault. Weeks before, he had received by special messenger a note from the count, saying that Prince Metternich had notified the government that the marriage was valid. The boy had been baptized and legitimatized, and therefore he desired a public reception. The faithful Swabian had sent his protest, founded on public opinion; but it was fruitless, for another messenger renewed the order, as the countess wished it particularly. "The countess!" Even Herr Stiegle, whose only antipathies were the contracting of debts and the disagreeing of accounts, could not repress a mocking smile at the title. But he did his duty. His orders were obeyed, and as he looked at the decorations he could not but be content. The Dominican monastery and the rabbi's house alone remained unornamented. Stiegle had not dared to speak to the prior, and the rabbi told him he feared God more than the count. Herr Groze's house, too, wore its ordinary appearance; the windows were closed, and some of the blinds down. "I did not appear as his judge in the spring, because there was no plaintiff, and I was obliged to regard the count's confession as private. But I do not intend to show him respect I do not feel." This was quite within the scope of Stiegle's understanding; but that the countess's brother should make no demonstration was unpardonable. He knew how many letters had passed between them, and therefore believed that there must have been a reconciliation. There were other cares which pressed upon Herr Stiegle, as he arranged his peasant guard. These honest fellows could be trusted, and the mob was too cowardly for violent deeds; but what if there should be insulting words? Whichever way he looked he saw sullen or sneering faces. "Herr Twanicki," he said to the little deformed cobbler, who had great influence over his equals, "I count upon you." "Certainly, certainly; if we only knew what to shout. What is the Hebrew for 'hurrah'?" Herr Stiegle spoke to Simeon Tragmann, the chief elder, at the triumphal arch, who answered, "We are in our places by your command. But if our people let their indignation master them, what can we do?" "Indignation! Why, it is such a triumph for you as has never before occurred."