At the end one shouted to know where he was
to sleep. The landlady called to the young serving-woman, and in a
classic German severity of disapprobation they were led up the stone
stairs to their room. They tramped off in threes and twos, making a bad,
mean, humiliated exit. It was not yet eight o'clock. The landlady sat
talking to one bearded man, staid and severe, whilst, with her work on
the table, she sewed steadily.
As the beggars and wanderers went slinking out of the room, some called
impudently, cheerfully:
'_Nacht, Frau Wirtin--G'Nacht, Wirtin--'te Nacht, Frau_,' to all of
which the hostess answered a stereotyped '_Gute Nacht_,' never turning
her head from her sewing, or indicating by the faintest movement that
she was addressing the men who were filing raggedly to the doorway.
So the room was empty, save for the landlady and her sewing, the staid,
elderly villager to whom she was talking in the unbeautiful dialect, and
the young serving-woman who was clearing away the plates and basins of
the tramps and beggars.
Then the villager also went.
'_Gute Nacht, Frau Seidl_,' to the landlady; '_Gute Nacht_,' at random,
to me.
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