coundrels roasting in the
hottest flames of purgatory to the joys of paradise, as yonder sparrow
had just soared from the dust of the street to the elm bough.

Kuni timidly asked the price of an indulgence, but the Dominican
unctuously explained that they were not sold like penny rolls at the
baker's; the heavier the sin, the higher the fine to be paid. First
of all, she must confess sincere contrition for what had been done
and inform him how, in spite of her youth, she had been led into such
heinous guilt. Kuni replied that she had long mourned her error most
deeply, and then began to whisper to Tetzel how she had been induced to
curse a fellow-mortal. She desired nothing for herself. Her sole wish
was to release the dead girl from the flames of purgatory, and the curse
which, by her guilt, burdened her soul. But the Dominican had only half
listened, and as many who wanted indulgences were crowding around his
box, he interrupted Kuni by offering her a paper which he would make
out in the name of the accursed Juliane Peutinger--if he had heard
correctly.

Such cases seemed to be very familiar to him, but the price he asked was
so large that the girl grew pale with terror.

Yet she must have the redeeming paper, and Tetzel lowered his price
after her declaration that she possessed only five heller pounds and
the convent viaticum. Besides, she stated that she had already bargained
with the carrier for the journey to the sea.

This, however, had no influence upon the Dominican, as the indulgence
made the pilgrimage to Compostella unnecessary. Since it would redeem
the accursed person from the fires of purgatory, she, too, was absolved
from the vow which drew her thither.

With stern decision he therefore insisted upon demanding the entire sum
in her possession. He could only do it so cheaply because her face and
her lost foot showed that she was destined to suffer part of the eternal
torture here on earth.

Then Kuni yielded. The paper was made out in the name of Juliane, she
gave up her little store, and returned to the inn a penniless beggar,
but with a lighter heart, carrying the precious paper under the
handkerchief crossed over her bosom. But there the carrier refused her
a seat without the money which she had promised him, and the landlord
demanded payment for her night's lodging and the bit of food she had
eaten.

Should she go back to the convent and ask for the little sum which
Lienhard had left there fo