rched
slowly down the river street, ducking our heads to the blast. Within
half an hour we passed under a stone archway and found ourselves snug in
the haven of our merchant's courtyard. Even the sumpter mules rejoiced,
and gave forth a chorus of brays that did one's heart good. Every tone
of their voices spoke of the warm stalls, the double feed of oats, and
the great manger of sweet hay that awaited them. Before going into the
house Max gave to each mule a stroke of his hand in token of affection.
Surely this proud automaton of Hapsburg was growing lowly in his tastes.
In other words, nature had captured his heart and was driving out the
inherited conventions of twenty generations. Five months of contact with
the world had wrought a greater cure than I had hoped five years would
work. I was making a man out of the flesh and blood of a Hapsburg. God
only knows when the like had happened before.

Max and I were conducted by a demure little Swiss maid to a large room
on the third floor of the house, overlooking the Rhine. There was no
luxury, but there was every comfort. There were two beds, each with a
soft feather mattress, pillows of down, and warm, stuffed coverlets of
silk. These were not known even in the duke's apartments at Hapsburg
Castle. There we had tarnished gold cloth and ancient tapestries in
abundance, but we lacked the little comforts that make life worth
living. Here Max learned another lesson concerning the people of this
world. The lowly Swiss merchant's unknown guest slept more comfortably
than did the Duke of Styria.

When we went down to supper, I could see the effort it cost Max to sit
at table with these good people. But the struggle was not very great;
five months before it would have been impossible. At Hapsburg he sat at
table with his father and mother only; even I had never sat with him in
the castle. At Basel he was sitting with a burgher and a burgher's frau.
In Styria he ate boar's meat from battered silver plate and drank sour
wine from superannuated golden goblets; in Switzerland he ate tender,
juicy meats and toothsome pastries from stone dishes and drank rich
Cannstadt beer from leathern mugs. His palate and his stomach jointly
attacked his brain, and the horrors of life in Hapsburg appeared in
their true colors.

On the morning of our second day at Basel, Franz invited us to be his
guests during our sojourn in the city. His house was large, having been
built to entertain customers