For a moment he thought of venturing in, but remembering his mission required the convincing of one man rather than the persuasion of a group, he forbore, but noted in his mind the position and designation of the house, resolving to select this building as the theater of his first effort, and return to it next morning.  It would serve his purpose as well as another.

Roland’s attention was then suddenly directed to his own position, standing in the bright moonlight, for there swung round from the river road, into the Fahrgasse, a small and silent company, who marched as one man.  The moon was shining almost directly up the street, but the houses to the west stood in its radiance, while those in the east were still in shadow.  Roland pressed himself back against the darkened wall to his left, near the partially opened door; between it and the river.  The silent procession advanced to the door ajar, and there paused, forming their ranks into two lines, thus making a passage for a tall, fine-looking, bearded man, who walked to the threshold, then turned and raised his bonnet in salute.

“My friends,” he said, “this is kind of you, and although I have been silent, I ask you to believe that deeply I appreciate your welcome escort.  And now, enter with me, and we will drink a stoup of wine together, to the somber toast, ‘God save our stricken city!’”

“No, no, Herr Goebel.  To-night is sacred.  We have seen you safely to your waiting family, and at that reunion there should be no intruders.  But to-morrow night, if you will have us, we will drink to the city, and to your own good health, Herr Goebel.”

This sentiment was applauded by all, and the merchant, seeing that they would not accept his present invitation, bowed in acquiescence, and bade them good-by.  When the door closed the delegation separated into units, and each went his own way.  Roland, stepping out of the shadow, accosted the rearmost man.

“Pardon me, mein Herr,” he said, “but may I ask what ceremony is this in which you have been taking part?”

The person accosted looked with some alarm at his questioner, but the moonlight revealed a face singularly gentle and winning; a face that in spite of its youth inspired instinctive confidence.  The tone, too, was very persuasive, and seemed devoid even of the offense of curiosity.

“’Tis no ceremony,” said the delegate, “but merely the return home of our friend, Herr Goebel.”

“Has he, then, been on a journey?”

“Sir, you are very young, and probably unacquainted with Frankfort.”

“I have lived here all my life,” said Roland.  “I am a native of Frankfort.”

“In that case,” replied the other, “you show yourself amazingly ignorant of its concerns; otherwise you would know that Herr Goebel is one of the leading merchants of the city, a man honorable, enlightened, and energetic—­an example to us all, and one esteemed alike by noble or peasant.  We honor ourselves in honoring him.”