Here,
on the northern side of the street is an old inn, "Zum weissen
Ross'l," with a broken, ill-carved head of a white horse above the
door. Across the face of the house is written, in old German
letters, an invitation:
Gruss Gott. Tritt ein!
Bring Gluck herein.
But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White
Horse was behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets.
Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a
house of entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass
of beer. He seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for
some purpose, changing his route from day to day, and hurrying
across the wider thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to
attract but little attention. He was not alone in the quiet
streets, for there were many in Dantzig at this time who from wealth
had fallen to want. Many counting-houses once noisy with prosperity
were now closed and silent. For five years the prosperous Dantzig
had lain crushed beneath the iron heel of the conqueror.
It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation of
Charles's most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme.
The clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when
he took his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door.
He was so absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated
just within the open door of the kitchen.
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