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Before the inn stood a large number of horses. One of them was pointed out to the huntsman; another, a beautiful pony provided with a side-saddle, stood ready for the countess; while a third was given to the student. The leader lifted the young goldsmith to the saddle, fixed him firmly in his seat, and then mounted a horse himself. He rode to the right of the lady, while another of the robbers rode at her left side. The student and huntsman were similarly guarded. As soon as the band of robbers were mounted, the leader gave a loud and clear whistle as a signal to start, and shortly the whole troop had disappeared in the forest.

The company gathered in the chamber of the inn, gradually recovered from their terror after the departure of the robbers. As is generally the case after some great misfortune or sudden danger has passed by, they would have been very cheerful had not their thoughts been occupied with their three companions, who had been led away before their very eyes. They all broke out in praise of the young goldsmith, and the countess wept when she reflected how deeply she was indebted to one upon whom she had no claim, whom she had never even known. It was a consolation for them all to know that the heroic huntsman and the brave student had accompanied him, and could comfort him in his hours of despondency. They even entertained a hope that the experienced forester would discover a means of escape for himself and companions. They consulted together as to what they had better do. The countess resolved that, as she was bound by no oath to the robbers, she would at once return to her husband, and make every exertion to discover their hiding-place, and set their prisoners free. The wagoner promised to go to Aschaffenburg and summon the officials to organize a pursuit of the robbers, while the compass-maker was to continue his journey.

The travellers were not disturbed any more that night; silence reigned in the forest inn, that had an hour before been the theatre of terrible scenes. But in the morning, when the servants of the countess went below to prepare for her departure, they came running back, and reported that they had found the landlady and her hostler bound on the floor, and begging for assistance.

The travellers gazed at one another in astonishment. “What?” cried the compass-maker. “Then these people must have been innocent. We have done them wrong, for they can have no association with the robbers.”

“I will allow myself to be hanged in their place,” returned the wagoner, “if we were not right after all. This is only a sham, designed to prevent their conviction. Don’t you remember the suspicious appearance of this inn? Don’t you remember how, when I started to go down-stairs, the trained dog would not let me pass? how the landlady and the hostler appeared instantly, and asked in a surly way what I was after? Still, all this was well for us, or at least for the lady countess. If things had worn a less suspicious air in the public room, if the landlady had not aroused our distrust, we should not have remained together, nor have kept awake. The robbers could have attacked us in our sleep, or at least would have guarded our doors, so that the substitution of the brave young goldsmith for the countess would not have been possible.”

They all agreed with the wagoner, and determined to lodge a complaint against the landlady and her servant, before the magistrate. Still, in order to be on the safe side, they concluded not to manifest the least token of suspicion just yet. The servants and the wagoner went down-stairs, loosened the bonds of the robbers’ accomplices, and conducted themselves as sympathetically and sorrowfully as possible. In order to conciliate her guests still more, the landlady charged each one but a very small amount, and extended them a hearty invitation to call again.