“Father, I belong neither to Rome nor to the religion of Geneva.  I am a humble worshipper of God, and a believer in the blessed mediation of his holy Son.”

“How!—­Where dost thou find such sentiments out of the pale of the church?”

“In mine own heart.  This is my temple, holy Augustine, and I never enter it without adoration for its Almighty founder.  A cloud was over the roof of my father at my birth, and I have not been permitted to mingle much with men; but the solitude of my life has driven me to study my own nature, which I hope has become none the worse for the examination.  I know I am an unworthy and sinful man, and I hope others are as much better than I as their opinions of themselves would give reason to think.”

The words of the Herr Mueller, which lost none of their weight by his unaffected and quiet manner, excited curiosity.  At first, most of the listeners were disposed to believe him one of those exaggerated spirits who exalt themselves by a pretended self-abasement, but his natural, quiet, and thoughtful deportment soon produced a more favorable opinion.  There was a habit of reflection, a retreating inward look about his eye, that revealed the character of one long and truly accustomed to look more at himself than at others, and which wrought singularly in his behalf.

“We may not all have these flattering opinions of ourselves that thy words would seem to imply Signor Mueller,” observed the Genoese, his tone changing to one better suited to soothe the feelings of the person addressed, while a shade insensibly stole over his own venerable features; “neither are all at peace that so seem.  If it will be any consolation to thee to know that others are probably no more happy than thyself, I will add that I have known much pain, and that, too, amid circumstances which most would deem fortunate, and which, I fear, a great majority of mankind might be disposed to envy.”

“I should be base indeed to seek consolation in such a source!  I do not complain, Signore, though my whole life has so passed that I can hardly say that I enjoy it.  It is not easy to smile when we know that all frown upon us; else could I be content.  As it is, I rather feel than repine.”

“This is a most singular condition of the mind;” whispered Adelheid to young Sigismund; for both had been deeply attentive listeners to the calm but strong language of the Herr Mueller.  The young man did not answer, and his fair companion saw with surprise, that he was pale, and with difficulty noticed her remark with a smile.

“The frowns of men, my son,” observed the monk, “are usually reserved for those who offend its ordinances.  The latter may not be always just, but there is a common sentiment which refuses to visit innocence, even in the narrow sense in which we understand the word, with undeserved displeasure.”

The Herr Mueller looked earnestly at the Augustine, and he seemed about to answer; but, checking the impulse, he bowed in submission.  At the same time, a wild, painful smile gleamed on his face.