Her fire was quenched at once, as with a stream of icy water. How intense had been her wish to feel herself one of that crowd, part and portion of the crush; to join in that thrilling tumult of salutes, and enjoy herself like the others! For indeed, like them all, her heart had glowed with enthusiasm, and been ready for every transport of tenderness: and now she found herself isolated, out of it all: just like a mangy dog, she thought! It was very, very bitter for her, and she barely refrained from tearful complaints, as she moved on, louring as a dark cloud that may at any time pour down a torrent of rain. More than once she had thought to slip away home, but could not: it was too hard to leave the procession! So she remained with the others, but as bewildered as Lapa seeking his master in a crowd. She felt no inclination to go either with her mother or with her brother Simon, who had purposely slipped away with Nastka among the juniper-bushes on the road.—All these things had finally made her so furious that she would have liked to stone all the lot of them, with their silly grinning faces! She was somewhat relieved that they had now left the forest on one side. The last mound stood by the crossways, one of which ran straight down to the mill. The sun had set, and a chilly wind blew from the lower levels. The priest, for whom Valek was waiting with a britzka, now hastened the service. They still went on singing, but with tired voices; the men asked in whispers about the farm which had been burnt at Eastertide, and whose blackened ruins they saw quite near; and they also gazed with curiosity at the Manor lands close at hand. There the Squire was to be seen, riding about the fields on his sorrel horse; also some men who appeared to be measuring the ground with long rods. Close to the cross, just where the roads forked, and over against the burnt cornstacks, a large yellow britzka was to be seen. “What may this mean?” someone asked. “They are measuring the land, but do not look like surveyors.” “Tradespeople, I dare say: they have not the air of farmers.” “Of Germans, rather.” “Aye, aye: dark-blue capotes, pipes in their mouths, and long trousers.” They stared and whispered with great curiosity, not unmixed with a vague sense of uneasiness; and they were so taken up that they did not notice the blacksmith who quietly slunk away, crawling by the ditches until he got to the Squire. “Are they buying the Podlesie farm, by any chance?” “I certainly heard them say at Easter that the Squire was looking out for purchasers.” “But Heaven protect us from such neighbours as the Germans!” The procession was now over. The priest got into his britzka and drove off with the organist; while the people broke up into small parties, trudging slowly home, some by the road, some along various pathways and in Indian file, each taking the nearest way to his dwelling.