Mr. von Rambow went on first to escape his guest’s civilities, and Braesig brought up the rear.  The whole business was talked over in all its bearings during breakfast; Hawermann got the place of bailiff with a good salary to be raised in five or six years, and only one condition was made, and that was that he should enter on his duties at once.  The new bailiff promised to do so, and the following day was fixed for taking stock of everything in and about the farm, so that both he and his employer might know how matters stood before the squire had to leave Puempelhagen.  Then Braesig told the “sad life-story” of the old thoroughbred, which had come down to being odd horse about the farm, and which he “had had the honor of knowing from its birth,” and told how it “had spavin, grease and a variety of other ailments, and so had been reduced to dragging a cart for its sins.”  After that he and Hawermann took leave of Mr. von Rambow.

“Braesig,” said Hawermann, “a great load has been taken off my heart.  Thank God, I shall soon be at work again, and that will help me to bear my sorrow.  Now for Guerlitz—­Ah, if we are only as fortunate there.”  “Yes, Charles, you may well say you are fortunate, for you are certainly wanting in the knowledge of life and fine tact that are necessary for any one to possess who has to deal with the nobility.  How could you, how could you go out of the room before the Councillor?” “I only did as he desired me, Braesig, and I was his guest, not his servant then.  I wouldn’t do so now, and believe me, he’ll never ask me to do it again.”  “Well, Charles, let me manage the whole business for you at the parsonage.  I’ll do it with the greatest finesse.”  “Certainly Braesig, it will be very kind of you to do it for me; if it were not for my dear little girl, I should never have the courage to ask such a favor.  If you will take the task off my shoulders, I shall look upon it as the act of a true friend.”

When they passed Guerlitz church they heard from the singing that service was still going on, so they determined to wait in the parsonage till it was over, but on entering the sitting-room, a round active little woman about forty years old came forward to receive them.  Everything about her was round, arms and fingers, head, cheeks and lips; and her round eyes twinkled so merrily in her round smiling face that one would at once jump to the conclusion that she had never known sorrow, and her every action was so cheery and full of life that one could easily see that she had a warm heart in her breast.  “How d’ye do, Mr. Braesig, sit down, sit down.  My pastor is still in church, but he would scold me if I allowed you to go away.  Sit down, Sir—­who are you?  I should have liked to have gone to church today, but only think, the clergyman’s seat broke down last Sunday; lots of people go to it, you see, and one can’t say ‘no,’ and old Pruesshawer, the carpenter, who was to have mended it this week, is down with a fever.”  Her words poured out smoothly like polished billiard-balls rolled by a happy child over the green cloth.