m was
at work within me. The rasp and file of doubt were eating away at my
heart, and I deemed "all men liars."

"And is it to me--Potts--you address such words as these, you consummate
old humbug? What is there about me that denotes dupe or fool?"

The old man shook his head, and made a gesture to imply he had not
understood me; and now I remembered that I had uttered this rude speech
in English, and not in German. With the memory of this fact came also
the consciousness of its cruel meaning. What if I should have wronged
him? What if the poor old fellow be honest and upright? What if he be
really striving to keep this girl in the path of virtue? I came close
to him, and fixed my eyes steadfastly on his face. He looked at me
fearlessly, as an honest man might look. He never tried to turn
away, nor did he make the slightest effort to evade me. He seemed to
understand all the import of my scrutiny, for he said, at last,--

"Well, are you satisfied?"

"I am, Vaterchen," said I, "fully satisfied. Let us be friends." And I
took his hand and shook it heartily.

"You think me honest?" asked he.

"I do think so."

"And I am not more honest than she is. No," said he, resolutely,
"Tintefleck is true-hearted."

"What of _me?_" cried she, coming up and leaning her arm on the old
man's shoulder,--"what of _me?_"

"I have said that you are honest, and would not deceive!"

"Not _you_, Vaterchen,--not _you_," said she, kissing him. And then, as
she turned away, she gave me a look so full of meaning, and so strange,
withal, that if I were to speak for an hour I could not explain it. It
seemed to mean sorrow and reproach and wounded pride, with a dash of
pity, and above all and everything, defiance; ay, that was its chief
character, and I believe I winced under it.

"Let us step out briskly," said Vaterchen. "Constance is a good eleven
miles off yet."

"He looks tired already," said she, with a glance at me.

"I? I'm as fresh as when I started," said I. And I made an effort to
appear brisk and lively, which only ended in making them laugh heartily.

CHAPTER XXXIII. MY ELOQUENCE BEFORE THE CONSTANCE MAGISTRATES.

Respectable reader, there is no use in asking you if you have ever been
in the Hotel of the "Balance," at Constance. Of course you have not. It
is neither recorded in the book of John, nor otherwise known to fame. It
is an obscure hostel, only visited by the very humblest wayfarers,
and such poor offshoo