“Thy city’s courtesy is of known repute,” said the Baron de Willading, replacing his papers in their usual envelope, and receiving the grace like one accustomed to honors of this sort:—­“art thou a father?”

“Heaven has not been niggardly of gifts of this nature:  my table feeds eleven, besides those who gave them being.”

“Eleven!—­The will of God is a fearful mystery!  And this thou seest is the sole hope of my line;—­the only heir that is left to the name and lands of Willading!  Art thou at ease in thy condition?”

“There are those in our town who are less so, with many thanks for the friendliness of the question.”

A slight color suffused the face of Adelheid de Willading, for so was the daughter of the Bernese called, and she advanced a step nearer to the officer.

“They who have so few at their own board, need think of those who have so many,” she said, dropping a piece of gold into the hand of the Genevese:  then she added, in a voice scarce louder than a whisper—­“If the young and innocent of thy household can offer a prayer in the behalf of a poor girl who has much need of aid, ’twill be remembered of God, and it may serve to lighten the grief of one who has the dread of being childless.”

“God bless thee, lady!” said the officer, little used to deal with such spirits, and touched by the mild resignation and piety of the speaker, whose simple but winning manner moved him nearly to tears; “all of my family, old as well as young, shall bethink them of thee and thine.”

Adelheid’s cheek resumed its paleness, and she quietly accompanied her father, as he slowly proceeded towards the bark.  A scene of this nature did not fail to shake the pertinacity of those who stood at watch near the gate.  Of course they had nothing to say to any of the rank of Melchior de Willading, who went into the bark without a question.  The influence of beauty and station united to so much simple grace as that shown by the fair actor in the little incident we have just related, was much too strong for the ill-trained feelings of the Neapolitan and his companions.  They not only let all the menials pass unquestioned also, but it was some little time before their vigilance resumed its former truculence.  The two or three travellers that succeeded had the benefit of this fortunate change of disposition.

The next who came to the gate was the young soldier, whom the Baron de Willading had so often addressed as Monsieur Sigismund.  His papers were regular, and no obstacle was offered to his departure.  It may be doubted how far this young man would have been disposed to submit to these extra-official inquiries of the three deputies of the crowd, had there been a desire to urge them, for he went towards the quay, with an eye that expressed any other sensation than that of amity or compliance.  Respect, or a more equivocal feeling, proved his protection; for none but the pilgrim, who displayed ultra-zeal in the pursuit of his object, ventured so far as to hazard even a smothered remark as he passed.