the Pastor.' What
do you think were my feelings, Lina, when I heard the woman so coolly
pouring forth all these fluent speeches?"

"I should have had great difficulty in refraining from very hard words
to such a bold evil creature. Quite too bad! To drag you out of your
own house, on a cold December night, over snowy mountains."

"And a wolf wandering about, too," said the Pastor, indignantly.

"Don't talk about a wolf," rejoined Lina hastily, "this Roettmaennin is
the most ferocious wolf of all. I hope you gave her your opinion."

"Assuredly I did--may I be a little vain between ourselves? I must say
then, that never in my life was I better pleased with myself. I own I
could scarcely help laughing at her cool impertinence, and her childish
want of consideration, for children are just so; they only think of
themselves, and not of the sacrifices they exact from others. Say what
you will, there is a certain degree of simplicity in the selfishness of
the Roettmaennin; she thinks only of herself and never of others. Of
course I did not fail to tell her that it was rather an arbitrary
proceeding, so coolly to dispose of a person's night's rest, and that I
did not even feel flattered by her esteeming my conversation so highly,
and sending a court equipage for me, commanding me to appear at court.
Still, as I was actually there and had lost my night's sleep, I
conversed with her, and tried to amuse her, so far as my powers
permitted, and she took her share in the conversation, relating to me
various anecdotes of good and evil; but she evidently preferred the
latter, her chief delight being in detailing all sorts of bad actions,
to prove the wickedness of the world, and she always wound up by
saying:--'Before I die, there is one favour I ask of God; which is to
give me some sign as to Vincent's murderers, that they may be all
hanged and burned, even supposing half the village were included.' You
know that when she begins on this subject, she is full of vindictive
projects; and yet I have pretty good proof that she had no great love
for Vincent while he was alive. Now, however, she speaks of him with
the most enthusiastic fondness, and as if all her love were buried in
his grave, for no heart is so entirely evil that it does not seek some
valid reason for such bitterness; striving to prove that it had been
devoted to some particular object, for whose sake all else is to be
disregarded. I tried to appeal to her conscience by s