The fury of the tempest had ceased, but the sky was still obscured by clouds.

A cool breeze blew from the northeast through the damp, heavy air.
Heinz Schorlin was coming from the fortress, and after crossing the Diligengasse went directly towards his lodgings.

His coat of mail, spurs, and helmeted head were accoutrements for the saddle, yet he was on foot.

A throng of men, women, and children, whispering eagerly together, accompanied him.

One pointed him out to another, as if there was something unusual about him.