said to be a descendant of the ancient Brandenstein
race, and yet--was the world topsy-turvy?--he, too, was listening to
every word uttered by Wilibald Pirckheimer and Dr. Peutinger as if it
were a revelation. The gray-haired leech and antiquary, Hartmann Schedel,
whom Herr Wilibald,--spite of the gout which sometimes forced a slight
grimace to distort his smooth-shaven, clever, almost over-plump
face,--led by the arm like a careful son, resembled, with his long,
silver locks, a patriarch or an apostle.

The young envoy of the Council, Herr Lienhard Groland, lingered behind
the others and seemed to be taking a survey of the room.

What bright, keen eyes he had; how delicately cut was the oval face with
the strong, very slightly hooked nose; how thick were the waving brown
locks that fell upon the slender neck; how well the pointed beard suited
his chin; with what austere majesty his head rose above the broad,
plaited, snow-white ruff, which he must have just donned!

Now his eyes rested upon the vagrants, and Dietel perceived something
which threw him completely off his balance; for the first time he changed
the position of his napkin, jerking it from its place under his left arm
to tuck it beneath the right one. He had known Kuni a long time. In her
prosperous days, when she was the ornament of Loni's band and had
attracted men as a ripe pear draws wasps, she had often been at the
tavern, and both he and the landlord of The Pike had greeted her
cordially, for whoever sought her favour was obliged to order the best
and dearest of everything, not only for her and himself, but for a whole
tableful of hungry guests. When she had met him just now he would never
have recognised her had she not been in Gundel's company. True, the sight
of her in this plight was not unexpected, yet it pierced him to the
heart, for Kuni had been a remarkable girl, and yet was now in far
greater penury than many of much less worth whom he had watched stumbling
along the downward path before her. When he saw Lienhard Groland's glance
rest upon her, he noticed also how strangely her emaciated face changed
colour. Though it had just been as white as the napkin under his arm, it
now flushed as red as the balsam blossoms in the window, and then paled
again. She had formerly gazed around her boldly enough, but now she
lowered her eyes to the floor as modestly as any demure maiden on her way
to church.

And what did this mean?

The honourable mem