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Schlunkel came to meet him, saying, “Shake hands: we’ll both be rich to-morrow.” Without understanding him, Florian took his hand, saying, “How so?”

“Just this way,” said Schlunkel, with a skip and a jump. “This morning Mendle’s Meyer came home from the horse-market, where he sold all his horses. He must have brought at least seven or eight hundred florins home with him. I saw the belt: it looked like a liver-pudding. You know how to handle a liver-pudding, don’t you? We’ll slice this up tonight. A week ago the fire-committee had Meyer’s bake-oven pulled down, because it was in the corner there. He had the hole walled up with brick. I helped to do it; and I laid one of the bricks so that you can just take it out with your hand. So to-night, when they’re all at the wedding, we’ll slip in and fetch the Jew’s sausage.”

“Not I,” said Florian.

“Just as you please: you can get the money the commune offered you, if you like that better, and see how far it’ll go.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve got a little bird that told me: you fool, all the swallows in the chimneys are talking of it.”

Florian stamped and bit his mustache. If he could have set fire to the village at that moment he would gladly have done so. He saw them all laughing at him, pitying him: the goal of his ambition–the veneration of the community–had fallen to ashes. At last he was ready for any thing. The enormity of the crime proposed never occurred to him for a moment. As honor was lost, he would go away laden with booty. Like one awaking from sleep, he said,–

“I’m in for it. What time?”

“About eight o’clock, I guess.”

After another shake of the hand, Florian left his accomplice. As he emerged from the dark house to the sunlight, he staggered like a drunken man, and was obliged to stand still for a time and steady himself by the wall. Then he went all through the village, whistling and singing: Crescence alone he avoided with a sort of terror.

It seemed as if the crime were already perpetrated. He looked at people’s faces, to see whether their features showed any marks of suspicion; and then, again, “What’s the odds?” he said to himself: “they don’t think much of me, anyhow.” Still, he was glad to remember that the thing was not yet really accomplished. Once, on seeing Buchmaier, he felt a desire to run away; but, ashamed of his weakness, he renewed his vow not to falter in his purpose.

After dark, the boys and girls came to the dance, some of them bringing wedding-presents. According to custom, they had three dances each.

Florian was among these arrivals. The bride came to welcome him, saying, “Are you here too? Where’s Crescence? I suppose she don’t feel much like dancing. Be sure you do the fair thing by her, Florian. Come; let’s have our last dance together.”

The best dancer in the village was for once soon compelled to stop. His knees shook: with such thoughts in his heart as he had, and with no soles to his boots, it was not easy to waltz well.

“What’s the matter with you? Why, you always danced like a humming-top,” said the bride. “Well, never mind. You don’t know how sorry I am not to see Crescence any more. We were always the best of friends; but we’re going off very early to-morrow morning. Come: I’ll give you a piece of wedding-cake for her: bring it to her, and say ‘Good-bye’ from me.”

Florian followed her into the back room, where he received the cake and a glass of warm wine, which he swallowed at a draught. He found new vigor coursing through his veins. As soon as he could, he stole away,–soon returned, however, and then left again.

Schlunkel was already waiting behind Meyer’s house with a little ladder. There was no light: the whole family had gone to the wedding. The breach was soon effected, and they slipped in. Having forced the kitchen and the room door and the press, they found the money and pocketed it, as well as some silver spoons and cups.