gence which he thought would secure him from the
tortures of the fire of purgatory. Before opening the door, he struck his
broad breast as though relieved of a heavy burden.

The ropedancer looked after him thoughtfully. The paper had now lightened
the sergeant's heart as it had formerly done her own. Would she not have
been wiser to give her money for the redemption of Nickel's lost soul
than for the orphans, whom the charity of the people would perhaps have
succoured without her? Probably, too, it would have afforded still
greater consolation to the poor dying woman, whom nothing troubled so
sorely as her guilt for the doom of her unfortunate husband.

Yet, even thus she had succeeded in making the dying mother's departure
easier, and what she had commenced she intended to complete at once.

With a tender smile that lent strange beauty to her pallid, grief-worn
face she continued her survey.

She had previously noticed an old priest, whose countenance bore the
impress of genuine kindness of heart. She soon found him again among the
travellers sleeping on the straw; but the old man's slumber was so sound
that she felt reluctant to wake him. Among the Dominicans from Cologne,
most of whom were also asleep, there were none she would have trusted,
nay, she even thought that one was the very person who, shortly before
her fall from the rope, had pursued her with persistent importunity. But
the Abbot of St. AEgidius in Nuremberg, who had dined with the
ambassadors from his native city, was also a man of benevolent, winning
expression. His cheeks were flushed, either by the heat or the wine which
he had drunk, but there was a look of attractive kindness upon his
well-formed features. When he went through the room a short time before,
Kuni had seen him pass his hand caressingly over the fair hair of the
pretty little son of a potter's wife from Reren on the Rhine, whose cart
was standing outside in the meadow by the Main. He was scarcely of the
same mind as the gentleman from Cologne, for he had just waved his plump
hand in protest.

Perhaps she might even do him a favour by summoning him. But dared she, a
poor vagabond, disturb so distinguished a gentleman at his wine?

Yet there was danger in delay. So she resolved to ask the assistance of
the landlady of The Pike, coughed with her handkerchief pressed over her
lips, in order not to disturb the sleepers, and turned to leave the room.

But Gitta had just been to see th