As all commendable diligence was used by the officers of the peace to make way for the bailiff, Herr Hofmeister and his companions were soon in their allotted stations, which, it is scarcely necessary to repeat, were the upper places on the estrade.  Peter had seated himself, after returning numerous salutations, for none in a situation to catch his eye neglected so fair an opportunity to show their intimacy with the bailiff, when his wandering glance fell upon the happy visage of Father Xavier.  Rising hastily, the bailiff went through a multitude of the formal ceremonies that distinguished the courtesy of the place and period, such as frequent wavings and liftings of the beaver, profound reverences, smiles that seemed to flow from the heart, and a variety of other tokens of extraordinary love and respect.  When all were ended, he resumed his place by the side of Melchior de Willading, with whom he commenced a confidential dialogue.

“We know not, noble Freiherr,” (he spoke in the vernacular of their common canton,) “whether we have most reason to esteem or to disrelish these Augustines.  While they do so many Christian acts to the travellers on their mountain yonder, they are devils incarnate in the way of upholding popery and its abominations among the people.  Look you, the commonalty—­God bless them as they deserve!—­have no great skill at doctrinal discussions, and are much disposed to be led away by appearances.  Numberless are the miserable dolts who fancy the godliness which is content to pass its time on the top of a frozen hill, doing good, feeding the hungry, dressing the wounds of the fallen, and—­but thou knowest the manner in which these sayings run—­the ignorant, as I was about to add, are but too ready to believe that the religion which leads men to do this, must have some savor of Heaven in it, after all!”

“Are they so very wrong, friend Peter, that we were wise to disturb the monks in the enjoyment of a favor that is so fairly earned?”

The bailiff looked askance at his brother burgher, for such was the humble appellation that aristocracy assumed in Berne, appearing desirous to probe the depth of the other’s political morals before he spoke more freely.

“Though of a house so honored and trusted, I believe thou art not much accustomed of late to mingle with the council?” he evasively observed.

“Since this heavy losses in my family, of which thou may’st have heard, the care of this sole surviving child has been my principal solace and occupation, I know not whether the frequent and near sight of death among those so tenderly loved may have softened my heart towards the Augustines, but to me theirs seems a self-denying and a right worthy life.”

“’Tis doubtless as you say, noble Melchior, and we shall do well to let our love for the holy canons be seen.  Ho!  Mr. Officer—­do us the favor to request the reverend monk of St. Bernard to draw nearer, that the people may learn the esteem in which their patient charities and never-wearying benevolence are held by the lookers-on.  As you will have occasion to pass a night beneath the convent’s roof, Herr von Willading, in your journey to Italy, a little honor shown to the honest and pains-taking clavier will not be lost on the brotherhood, if these churchmen have even a decent respect for the usages of their fellow-creatures.”