The gentlemen who drank in the adjoining room, the judges, physicians,
planters--all the bigwigs of a small town, in short--soon noticed the
magical light that glimmered through the half-open door whenever
Weigand was obliged to pass from the public rooms into his private
dwelling. And the men grew to be curious, the more so as the
inn-keeper's young wife, of whose charms many rumours were afloat, had
never yet been seen by any.

One evening, when the company was in an especially hilarious mood, the
men demanded stormily to see the mysterious room.

Weigand hesitated. He would have to ask his wife's permission. He
returned with the friendly message that the gentlemen were welcome.
Hesitant, almost timid, they entered as if crossing the threshold of
some house of mystery.

There stood--transfigured by the glow of coloured lamps--the shapely
young woman with the alluring glow in her eyes, and her lips that were
in the form of a heart. She gave each a secretly quivering hand and
spoke a few soft words that seemed to distinguish him from the others.
Then, still timid and modest, she asked them to be seated and begged
for permission to serve a glass of champagne in honour of
the occasion.

It is not recorded who ordered the second bottle. It may have been the
very fat Herr von Loffka, or the permanently hilarious judge. At all
events the short visit of the gentlemen came to an end at three
o'clock in the morning with wild intoxication and a sale of eighteen
bottles of champagne, of which half bore French labels.