Then he drew over his head the hood which hung from his coat, and meanwhile must have decided upon an answer, for as soon as they moved on he began again:  “You must drive your love for the beautiful sleepwalker out of your mind.  Try to do so, my dear, dear master, for the sake of your lady mother, your young sister who will soon be old enough to marry, our light-hearted Maria, and the good old castle.  For your own happiness, your lofty career, which began so gloriously, you must hear me!  O master, my dear master, tear from your heart the image of the little Nuremberg witch, tempting though it is, I admit.  The wound will bleed for a brief time, but after so much mirthful pleasure a fleeting disappointment in love, I should think, would not be too hard to bear if it will be speedily followed by the fairest and most enduring happiness.”

Here a flash of lightning, which illumined the hospital door close before them, and made every surrounding object as bright as day, interrupted the affectionate entreaty of the faithful fellow, and at the same time a tremendous peal of thunder crashed and rattled through the air.

Master and servant crossed themselves, but Heinz exclaimed: 

“That struck the tower yonder.  A little farther to the left, and all doubts and misgivings would have been ended.”

“You can say that!” exclaimed Biberli reproachfully while passing with his master through the gate which had just been opened for an imperial messenger.  “And you dare to make such a speech in the midst of this heavenly wrath!  For the sake of a pair of lovely eyes you are ready to execrate a life which the saints have so blessed with every gift that thousands and tens of thousands would not give it up from sheer gratitude and joy, even if it were not a blasphemous crime!”

Again the lightning and thunder drowned his words.  Biberli’s heart trembled, and muttering prayers beseeching protection from the avenging hand above, he walked swiftly onward till they reached the Corn Market.  Here they were again stopped, for, notwithstanding the late hour, a throng of people, shouting and wailing, was just pouring from the Ledergasse into the square, headed by a night watchman provided with spear, horn, and lantern, a bailiff, torchbearers, and some police officers, who were vainly trying to silence the loudest outcries.

Again a brilliant flash of lightning pierced the black mass of clouds, and Heinz, shuddering, pointed to the crowd and asked, “Do you suppose the lightning killed the man whom they are carrying yonder?”

“Let me see,” replied Biberli, among whose small vices curiosity was by no means the least.  He must have understood news gathering thoroughly, for he soon returned and informed Heinz, who had sought shelter from the rain under the broad bow window of a lofty house, that the bearers were just carrying to his parents’ home a young man whose thread of life had been suddenly severed by a stab through the breast in a duel.  After the witnesses had taken the corpse to the leech Otto, in the Ledergasse, and the latter said that the youth was dead, they had quickly dispersed, fearing a severe punishment on account of the breach of the peace.  The murdered man was Ulrich Vorchtel, the oldest son of the wealthy Berthold Vorchel, who collected the imperial taxes.