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 returned home, as the last beam of the sun’s reflection was paling in the sky.

In the meantime, a disgraceful old man was sitting in an inn amidst a circle of daily guests. His legs were crossed, his feet were encased in dilapidated, dusty shoes. He spoke in a loud voice, beating his fist upon the surface of the oak table. His attentive audience from time to time expressed its satisfaction, its approval. Here were owners of small cottages, shopkeepers, and one alderman; they treated the old man to beer, drank with him, and clinked glasses. The old man harangued about his rights, a father’s rights to his daughter. He said he would not allow her to be carried off and taken away by any count; he had all the statutes at his fingertips, and the police were with him; he was a cultivated gentleman; he had been a teacher somewhere in a distant village; fate had struck him a grievous blow;