From this point our journey lay at least over a better road, between meadows and fruit-trees, to the little town which we reached at night-fall.

We had a long and weary search before we could obtain for our sick comrade even a room, destitute of every appearance of comfort.

Poor Herr Sattler, more dead than alive, was compelled, after a ride of thirteen hours, to take up his lodging on the hard ground.

The room was perfectly bare, the windows were broken, and the door would not lock.

We were fain to search for a few boards, with which we closed up the windows, that the sick man might at least be sheltered from the current of air.
I then prepared him a dish of rice with vinegar; this was the only refreshment we were able to procure.
The rest of us lay down in the yard; but the anxiety we felt concerning our sick friend prevented us from sleeping much.