“In Genoa we are used to hear both parties,” gravely rejoined the Signor Grimaldi, “that we may first make sure that we touch the true merits of the case.  Were another to claim the Signor de Willading’s honors and name, thou wouldst scarce grant his suit, without questioning our friend here, touching his own rights to the same.”

“Better and better!  This is justice, while that which fell from the bridegroom was only argument.  Harkee, Balthazar, and thou good woman, his wife—­and thou too, pretty Christine—­what have ye all to answer to the reasonable plea of Jacques Colis?”

Balthazar, who, by the nature of his office, and by his general masculine duties, had been so much accustomed to meet with harsh instances of the public hatred, soon recovered his usual calm exterior, even though he felt a father’s pang and a father’s just resentment at witnessing this open injury to one so gentle and deserving as his child.  But the blow had been far heavier on Marguerite, the faithful and long-continued sharer of his fortunes.  The wife of Balthazar was past the prime of her days, but she still retained the presence, and some of the personal beauty, which had rendered her, in youth, a woman of extraordinary mien and carriage.  When the words which announced the slight to her daughter first fell on her ears, she paled to the hue of the dead.  For several minutes she stood looking more like one that had taken a final departure from the interests and emotions of life, than one that, in truth, was a prey to one of the strongest passions the human breast can ever entertain, that of wounded maternal affection.  Then the blood stole slowly to her temples, and, by the time the bailiff put his question, her entire face was glowing under a tumult of feeling that threatened to defeat its own wishes, by depriving her of the power of speech.

“Thou canst answer him, Balthazar,” she said huskily, motioning for her husband to arouse his faculties; “thou art used to these multitudes and to their scorn.  Thou art a man, and canst do us justice.”

“Herr Bailiff,” said the headsman, who seldom lost the mild deportment that characterized his manner, “there is much truth in what Jacques hath urged, but all present may have seen that the fault did not come of us, but of yonder heartless vagabond.  The wretch sought my life on the lake, in our late unfortunate passage hither; and, not content with wishing to rob my children of their father, he comes now to injure me still more cruelly.  I was born to the office I hold, as you well know, Herr Hofmeister, or it would never have been sought by me; but what the law wills, men insist upon as right.  This girl can never be called upon to strike a head from its shoulders, and, knowing from childhood up the scorn that awaits all who come of my race, I sought the means of releasing her, at least, from some part of the curse that hath descended on us.”

“I know not if this were legal!” interrupted the bailiff, quickly.  “What is your opinion, Her von Willading?  Can any in Berne escape their heritable duties, any more than hereditary privileges can be assumed?  This is a grave question; innovation leads to innovation, and our venerable laws and our sacred usages must be preserved, if we would avert the curse of change!”