of silver among the gold.  Ah, and those luckless hands!  It was by reason of his hands—­albeit you will doubtless smile at the confession—­that I moved him to refrain his longing, even when we were so near our journey’s end as Augsburg, and to grant me another day’s delay, inasmuch as that I cared most that he should at first hide them in gloves from the womankind at home.  And in all the great town was there not a pair to be and that would fit him, and it would take a whole day to make him a pair to his measure.  Thus were we fain to tarry, and whereas we had in Augsburg, among other good friends, a faithful ally in trading matters at the Venice Fondaco, Master Sigismund Gossenprot, we lodged in his dwelling, which was one of the finest that fine city; and, as good-hap ruled it, he had, on the very eve of that day, come home from Venice.

He and his worthy wife had known Herdegen of old, and I was cut to the heart to see how the sight of him grieved them both.  Nay, and the fair young daughter of the house ne’er cast an eye on the stranger guest, whose presence had been wont to stir every maiden’s heart to beat faster.  Howbeit, here again I found comfort when I marked at supper that the sweet damsel no longer heeded my simple person, whereas she had at first gazed at me with favor, but hearkened with glowing cheeks to Herdegen’s discourse.  At first, to be sure, this was anything rather than gay, inasmuch as Master Gossenprot was full of tidings from Venice, and of Sir Franz’s latter end, which, indeed, was enough to sadden the most mirthful.

When the Bohemian had come to Venice he had lodged at a tavern, by name “The Mirror,” and there mine host had deemed that he was but a gloomy and silent guest.  And it fell that one day the city was full of a dreadful uproar, whereas it was rumored that in the afternoon, at the hour when Dame Ursula Giustiniani was wont to fare forth in her gondola, a strange man clad in black had leaped into it from his own and, before the serving-men could lay hands on him, he had stabbed her many times to the heart with his dagger.  Then, as they were about to seize him, he had turned the murderous weapon still wet with his victim’s blood, on himself, and thus escaped the avenging hand of justice.

As soon as the host of The Mirror heard this tale, he minded him of that strange, dark man and, when that way-farer came not home to his inn, he made report thereof to the judges.  Then, on making search in his wallet, it was discovered that he had entered there under a false name, and that it was Sir Franz von Welemisl who had taken such terrible vengeance on Ursula for her sins against himself and Herdegen.

From Augsburg we now made good speed, and when, one fine June morning, our proud old citadel greeted our eyes from afar, and I saw that Herdegen’s eyes were wet as he gazed upon it, mine eyes likewise filled with tears, and as we rode we clasped hands fervently, but in silence.