Kohlhaas, who no longer took any pleasure either in his horse-breeding, or his house or his farm, scarcely even in his wife and children, waited all the next month, full of gloomy forebodings as to the future.  And, just as he had expected at the expiration of this time, Herse, somewhat benefited by the baths, came back from Brandenburg bringing a rather lengthy decree and a letter from the City Governor.  The latter ran as follows:  He was sorry that he could do nothing in Kohlhaas’ behalf; he was sending him a decision from the Chancery of State and he advised him to fetch away the horses that he had left behind at the Tronka Castle, and then to let the matter drop.

The decree read as follows:  “According to the report of the tribunal at Dresden, he was a good-for-nothing, quarrelsome person; the Squire with whom he had left the horses was not keeping them from him in any way; let him send to the castle and take them away, or at least inform the Squire where to send them to him; in any case he should not trouble the Chancery of the State with such petty quarrels and mischief-making.”

Kohlhaas, who was not concerned about the horses themselves—­he would have felt just as much pain if it had been a question of a couple of dogs—­Kohlhaas foamed with rage when he received this letter.  As often as he heard a noise in the courtyard he looked toward the gateway with the most revolting feelings of anticipation that had ever agitated his breast, to see whether the servants of the Squire had come to restore to him, perhaps even with an apology, the starved and worn-out horses.  This was the only situation which he felt that his soul, well disciplined though it had been by the world, was not prepared to meet.

A short time after, however, he heard from an acquaintance who had traveled that road, that at Tronka Castle his horses were still being used for work in the fields exactly like the Squire’s other horses.  Through the midst of the pain caused by beholding the world in a state of such monstrous disorder, shot the inward satisfaction of knowing that from henceforth he would be at peace with himself.

He invited a bailiff, who was his neighbor, to come to see him.  The latter had long cherished the idea of enlarging his estate by purchasing the property which adjoined it.  When he had seated himself Kohlhaas asked him how much he would give for his possessions on Brandenburg and Saxon territory, for house and farm, in a lump, immovable or not.

Lisbeth, his wife, grew pale when she heard his words.  She turned around and picked up her youngest child who was playing on the floor behind her.  While the child pulled at her kerchief, she darted glances of mortal terror past the little one’s red cheeks, at the horse-dealer, and at a paper which he held in his hand.