Now that he was inside, with a powerful German army all about him, he
must decide soon what to do. Fortunately he had made a friend of
Scheller who advised him to go to a little Inn near the Moselle, much
frequented by thrifty peasants, and John concluded to take his advice.
"Good-by, Castel," said Scheller, reaching out a huge fist. "I like you
and I hope we'll meet in Paris soon."
John took the fist in a hand not as large as Scheller's, but almost as
powerful, and shook it.
"Here's to the meeting in Paris," he said, but he added under his
breath, "may it happen, with you as my unwounded prisoner."
He left Scheller after thanks for the ride, and found his way to the Inn
of the Golden Lion, which was crowded with stout farmers and peasants.
It was old-fashioned, with a great room where most of the men sat on
benches before a huge fire, which cast a cheerful glow over ruddy
faces. Some were eating sausage and drinking beer, and there was plenty
of talk, mostly in German.
John modestly found a place near the fire for which he was very
grateful, and ordered beer and cheese. Apparently he was nothing but a
peasant going about his own humble business, but he listened keenly to
everything that was said, reckoning that someone ultimately would
mention the Prince of Auersperg, or could be drawn into speaking of a
man of so much consequence who might be present in Metz.
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