“You are better among us here,” the baron kindly observed, when the Herr Mueller was fairly established in his new situation, “than among the freight of the honest Nicklaus Wagner, who, Heaven help the worthy peasant! has loaded us fairly to the water’s edge, with the notable industry of his dairy people.  I like to witness the prosperity of our burghers, but it would have been better for us travellers, at least, had there been less of the wealth of honest Nicklaus in our company.  Are you of Berne, or of Zurich?”

“Of Berne, Herr Baron.”

“I might have guessed that by finding you on the Genfer See, instead of the Wallenstaetter.  There are many of the Muellers in the Emmen Thal?”

“The Herr is right; the name is frequent, both in that valley, and in Entlibuch.”

“It is a frequent appellation among us of the Teutonick stock.  I had many Muellers in my company, Gaetano, when we lay before Mantua, I remember that two of the brave fellows were buried in the marshes of that low country; for the fever helped the enemy as much as the sword, in the life-wasting campaign of the year we besieged the place.”

The more observant Italian saw that the stranger was distressed by the personal nature of the conversation, and, while he quietly assented to his friend’s remark, he took occasion to give it a new direction.

“You travel, like ourselves, Signore, to get a look at these far-famed revels of the Vevasians?”

“That, and affairs, have brought me into this honorable company;” answered the Herr Mueller, whom no kindness of tone, however, could win from his timid and subdued manner of speaking.

“And thou, father,” turning to the Augustine, “art journeying towards thy mountain residence, after a visit of love to the valleys and their people?”

The monk of St. Bernard assented to the truth of this remark, explaining the manner in which his community were accustomed annually to appeal to the liberality of the generous in Switzerland, in behalf of an institution that was founded in the interest of humanity, without reference to distinction of faith.

“’Tis a blessed brotherhood,” answered the Genoese, crossing himself, perhaps as much from habit as from devotion, “and the traveller need wish it well.  I have never shared of your hospitality, but all report speaks fairly of it, and the title of a brother of San Bernardo, should prove a passport to the favor of every Christian.”

“Signore,” said Maso, stopping suddenly, and taking his part uninvited in the discourse, and yet in a way to avoid the appearance of an impertinent interference, “none know this better than I!  A wanderer these many years, I have often seen the stony roof of the hospice with as much pleasure as I have ever beheld the entrance of my haven, when an adverse gale was pressing against my canvass.  Honor and a rich quete to the clavier of the convent, therefore, for it is bringing succor to the poor and rest to the weary!”