In the open carriage sat one man only, Karl Steinmetz.
As he passed through the village a murmur of many voices followed him, not quite drowned by the rattle of his wheels, the clatter of the horses' feet.

The murmur was a curse.

Karl Steinmetz heard it distinctly.

It made him smile with a queer expression beneath his great gray mustache.
The starosta, standing in his door-way, saw the smile.

He raised his voice with his neighbors and cursed.