l with his
flaming sword under his arm, nodded to him mysteriously, and whispered
that there was some one outside who wished to speak with him. The monk
rushed into the hall with most unclerical haste, and was not
disappointed. She whom he expected stood before him.

She acknowledged his welcome, but in such a formal tone that he found a
good deal of difficulty in stammering out some gallant reproaches for
her late arrival. Her chief anxiety seemed to be that her disguise was
not sufficient to prevent her from being recognized. When he had
somewhat relieved her fears on this score and had, as an additional
precaution, arranged her white eyebrows and beard so that they should
cover a little more of the delicate face, she asked why no music could
be heard from the hall. He explained to her the reason of the pause,
and wanted to escort her in without further ceremony. But she insisted
upon waiting until the dance should begin again, and begged him to
leave her and rejoin the company until that time.

His chivalrous heart would not consent to this, so he staid outside
with the beautiful unknown, who had taken possession of the chair at
Fridolin's table, and who answered in monosyllables to his neat
speeches and appeared to be in a strange state of excitement, and
entirely absorbed in her own thoughts.

At length, the first sound of the fiddle inside gave the signal for his
release; but not until the trembling of the floor made it apparent that
the couples had once more begun the dance, did the muffled figure rise
and seize the arm of her companion. Rosenbusch felt that she trembled
slightly; he could not imagine what should make her, but he was already
too much abashed by her reserve to rally her upon her strange timidity.

The fact that the friar had suddenly associated himself with a
colleague did not at first make the sensation he had expected. Then,
when the attention of one person after another was drawn to the pair of
monks, there was no doubt in the mind of any one as to the identity of
the smaller friar, who betrayed the woman both in manner and carriage.
The love affair of the battle-painter was too well known not to make
every one suspect that the thick white beard, and the bushy eyebrows,
concealed the features of the fair Nanny. The fact of her coming so
late confirmed this supposition. She had been obliged to wait until her
parents were asleep, so that she might steal to the ball undetected.
They all wished