Publisher's Synopsis
A few children had congregated on the steps of the Marienkirche at Dantzig, because the door stood open. The verger, old Peter Koch-on week days a locksmith-had told them that nothing was going to happen; had been indiscreet enough to bid them go away. So they stayed, for they were little girls. A wedding was in point of fact in progress within the towering walls of the Marienkirche-a cathedral built of red brick in the great days of the Hanseatic League. "Who is it?" asked a stout fishwife, stepping over the threshold to whisper to Peter Koch. "It is the younger daughter of Antoine Sebastian," replied the verger, indicating with a nod of his head the house on the left-hand side of the Frauengasse where Sebastian lived. There was a wealth of meaning in the nod. For Peter Koch lived round the corner in the Kleine Schmiedegasse, and of course-well, it is only neighbourly to take an interest in those who drink milk from the same cow and buy wood from the same Jew. The fishwife looked thoughtfully down the Frauengasse where every house has a different gable, and none of less than three floors within the pitch of the roof. She singled out No. 36, which has a carved stone balustrade to its broad verandah and a railing of wrought-iron on either side of the steps descending from the verandah to the street.
