The loafers before No. 19 spoke to many of them.
Some said, "Indeed?" shook their heads, smiled and passed on:
they had no time to waste in staring at the king. But many
waited; lighting their cigars or cigarettes or pipes, they stood
gossiping with one another, looking at their watches now and
again, lest they should overstay their leisure. Thus the assembly
grew to the number of a couple of hundred. I ceased my walk, for
the pavement was too crowded, and hung on the outskirts of the
throng. As I loitered there, a cigar in my mouth, I felt a hand
on my shoulder. Turning round, I saw the lieutenant. He was in
uniform. By his side was Rischenheim.
"You're here too, are you?" said I. "Well, nothing seems to be
happening, does it?"
For No. 19 showed no sign of life. The shutters were up, the door
closed; the little shop was not open for business that day.
Bernenstein shook his head with a smile. His companion took no
heed of my remark; he was evidently in a state of great
agitation, and his eyes never left the door of the house. I was
about to address him, when my attention was abruptly and
completely diverted by a glimpse of a head, caught across the
shoulders of the bystanders.
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