The card was fragrant with the essence of roses, and written on it, very elegantly and in violet ink, were the following words:This evening, at seven o’clock, in Schloss’s Inn, portraits and landscapesMore than one villager examined his card from every angle, turning it over and over, sniffing it, reading and rereading the brief text. By seven in the morning, the inn was already thick with people. With men. Only men, obviously, but some of them had been sent by their wives to see what they could find out. There were so many extended arms and empty glasses that Schloss had trouble keeping everyone served.“So, Schloss, tell us what this foolishness is about!”Elbow to elbow, they were all knocking back wine, schorick, or beer. Outside, the sun was already beating down hard. Schloss’s customers pressed against one another and pricked up their ears.“Did your lodger fall and hit his head?”“What’s he up to?”“It’s Scheitekliche, right? Or what?”“Come on, Schloss, say something!
