me known
that he pored over huge volumes all day long and pursued no business,
yet paid for everything in good money, he was believed to be an
alchemist and sorcerer.

All who lived here were miserable or despised, and when Adam had left
the Richtberg he told himself that he no longer belonged among the proud
and unblemished and since he felt dishonored and took disgrace in the
same dogged earnest, that he did everything else, he believed the people
in the Richtberg were just the right neighbors for him. All knew what
it is to be wretched, and many had still heavier disgrace to bear. And
then! If want drove his miserable wife back to him, this was the right
place for her and those of her stamp.

So he bought the jockey's house and well-supplied forge. There would be
customers enough for all he could do there in obscurity.

He had no cause to repent his bargain.

The old nurse remained with him and took care of Ulrich, who throve
admirably. His own heart too grew lighter while engaged in designing or
executing many an artistic piece of work. He sometimes went to the
city to buy iron or coals, but usually avoided any intercourse with the
citizens, who shrugged their shoulders or pointed to their foreheads,
when they spoke of him.

About a year after his removal he had occasion to speak to the
file-cutter, and sought him at the Lamb, where a number of Count
Frolinger's retainers were sitting. Adam took no notice of them,
but they began to jeer and mock at him. For a time he succeeded in
controlling himself, but when red-haired Valentine went too far, a
sudden fit of rage overpowered him and he felled him to the floor. The
others now attacked him and dragged him to their master's castle, where
he lay imprisoned for six months. At last he was brought before the
count, who restored him to liberty "for the sake of Florette's beautiful
eyes."

Years had passed since then, during which Adam had lived a quiet,
industrious life in the Richtberg with his son. He associated with
no one, except Doctor Costa, in whom he found the first and only real
friend fate had ever bestowed upon him.

CHAPTER III.

Father Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return from
imprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery. As the monk in his
youth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite
of his ecclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy
monastery, and had formerly come to the smithy in