“There goes an arm and a sword that might well shorten a Christian’s days,” said the dissolute and shameless dealer in the church’s abuses, “and, yet no one asks his name or calling!”

“Thou hadst better put the question thyself,” returned the sneering Pippo, “since penitence is thy trade.  For myself, I am content with whirling round at my own bidding, without taking a hint from that young giant’s arm.”

The poor scholar and the burgher of Berne appeared to acquiesce in this opinion, and no more said in the matter.  In the mean while there was another at the gate.  The new applicant had little in his exterior to renew the vigilance of the superstitious trio.  A quiet, meek-looking man, seemingly of a middle condition in life, and of an air altogether calm and unpretending, had submitted his passport to the faithful guardian of the city.  The latter read the document, cast a quick and inquiring glance at its owner, and returned the paper in a way to show haste, and a desire to be rid of him.

“It is well,” he said; “thou canst, go thy way.”

“How now!” cried the Neapolitan, to whom buffoonery was a congenial employment, as much by natural disposition as by practice; “How now!—­have we Balthazar at last, in this bloody-minded and fierce-looking traveller?” As the speaker had expected, this sally was rewarded by a general laugh, and he was accordingly encouraged to proceed.  “Thou knowest our office, friend,” added the unfeeling mountebank, “and must show us thy hands.  None pass who bear the stain of blood!”

The traveller appeared staggered, for he was plainly a man of retired and peaceable habits, who had been thrown, by the chances of the road, in contact with one only too practised in this unfeeling species of wit.  He showed his open palm, however, with a direct and confiding simplicity, that drew a shout of merriment from all the by-standers.

“This will not do; soap, and ashes, and the tears of victims, may have washed out the marks of his work from Balthazar himself.  The spots we seek are on the soul, man, and we must look into that, ere thou art permitted to make one in this goodly company.”

“Thou didst not question yonder young soldier thus,” returned the stranger, whose eye kindled, as even the meek repel unprovoked outrage, though his frame trembled violently at being subject to open insults from men so rude and unprincipled; “thou didst not dare to question yonder young soldier thus!”

“By the prayers of San Gennaro! which are known to stop running and melted lava, I would rather thou should’st undertake that office than I. Yonder young soldier is an honorable decapitator, and it is a pleasure to be his companion on a journey; for, no doubt, some six or eight of the saints are speaking in his behalf daily.  But he we seek is the outcast of all, good or bad, whether in heaven or on earth, or in that other hot abode to which he will surely be sent when his time shall come.”