The people murmured, for the astrologer was old, and always before had been halting of movement and at times even lame, but he was nimble enough now and went on with his antics in the liveliest manner. Finally he sprang lightly down and walked away, and passed up the road and around the corner and disappeared. Then that great, pale, silent, solid crowd drew a deep breath and looked into one another’s faces as if they said: “Was it real? Did you see it, or was it only I--and I was dreaming?” Then they broke into a low murmur of talking, and fell apart in couples, and moved toward their homes, still talking in that awed way, with faces close together and laying a hand on an arm and making other such gestures as people make when they have been deeply impressed by something. We boys followed behind our fathers, and listened, catching all we could of what they said; and when they sat down in our house and continued their talk they still had us for company. They were in a sad mood, for it was certain, they said, that disaster for the village must follow this awful visitation of witches and devils. Then my father remembered that Father Adolf had been struck dumb at the moment of his denunciation. “They have not ventured to lay their hands upon an anointed servant of God before,” he said: “and how they could have dared it this time I cannot make out, for he wore his crucifix. Isn’t it so?” “Yes,” said the others, “we saw it.” “It is serious, friends, it is very serious. Always before, we had a protection. It has failed.” The others shook, as with a sort of chill, and muttered those words over--“It has failed.” “God has forsaken us.” “It is true,” said Seppi Wohlmeyer’s father; “there is nowhere to look for help.” “The people will realize this,” said Nikolaus’s father, the judge, “and despair will take away their courage and their energies. We have indeed fallen upon evil times.” He sighed, and Wohlmeyer said, in a troubled voice: “The report of it all will go about the country, and our village will be shunned as being under the displeasure of God. The Golden Stag will know hard times.” “True, neighbor,” said my father; “all of us will suffer--all in repute, many in estate. And, good God!--” “What is it?” “That can come--to finish us!” “Name it--um Gottes Willen!” “The Interdict!” It smote like a thunderclap, and they were like to swoon with the terror of it. Then the dread of this calamity roused their energies, and they stopped brooding and began to consider ways to avert it. They discussed this, that, and the other way, and talked till the afternoon was far spent, then confessed that at present they could arrive at no decision. So they parted sorrowfully, with oppressed hearts which were filled with bodings.