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The dull February day was drawing towards its close when he stepped out upon the road that led to his native village. Joylessly he saw the familiar details of the neighbourhood appearing out of the fog, and he gave a casual, uninterested glance over the fields that bordered the highway. Before the turnpike-keeper's cottage he stood still a moment.
John, after this, rode into the town, and as he stopped his horse to pay the turnpike, he was observed by the turnpike-keeper's wife to be looking gloomy and abstracted; indeed, the gate was no sooner shut behind him than he sighed, and said with a certain bitterness, "I shouldn't wonder if, in two or three years time, I am driven to put my neck under the yoke after all."
His head had fallen forward; the body sat stiff and stark in the narrow arm-chair, and his hand, which had evidently been supporting his chin, was still raised, stiffened by the paralysis of death and by the icy cold. Papers of various kinds were spread out before the dead man: account-books, and gilt-edged testimonials dating from the turnpike-keeper's time in the army.
They knocked at the door of the turnpike-keeper's little house, and tapped on the window shutters. Nothing could be heard but the sighing of the wind; and at last they turned away homewards. But next morning the milk-pitcher was still absent, and there was no smoke from the chimney. The village-elder was then informed. He ordered out the gendarme, and sent a locksmith to force the door.
At midday some one drove past the turnpike-keeper's house, taking corn to the mill, and observed that no smoke was coming from the chimney. Why had old Vogt got no fire? Even if he didn't want to cook food for himself, the cows ought to have their warm meal.
Half the village went after them and crowded round the turnpike-keeper's cottage, so that the gendarme had some trouble in keeping the women and children at a distance. The village-elder banged on the door with his fist and rattled the handle. "Herr Vogt!" he cried, "Herr Vogt! open the door!" And again: "Herr Vogt! turnpike-keeper! open the door!"
Nobody was ever allowed to cross his threshold. The peasants, however, let him go his way. Every one has a right to do as he likes; and the turnpike-keeper's manner of life was beginning to be looked on as a matter of course, when suddenly he drew upon himself universal attention.
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