All who lived here were miserable or despised, and when Adam had left the Richtberg he told himself that he no longer belonged among the proud and unblemished and since he felt dishonored and took disgrace in the same dogged earnest, that he did everything else, he believed the people in the Richtberg were just the right neighbors for him.  All knew what it is to be wretched, and many had still heavier disgrace to bear.  And then!  If want drove his miserable wife back to him, this was the right place for her and those of her stamp.

So he bought the jockey’s house and well-supplied forge.  There would be customers enough for all he could do there in obscurity.

He had no cause to repent his bargain.

The old nurse remained with him and took care of Ulrich, who throve admirably.  His own heart too grew lighter while engaged in designing or executing many an artistic piece of work.  He sometimes went to the city to buy iron or coals, but usually avoided any intercourse with the citizens, who shrugged their shoulders or pointed to their foreheads, when they spoke of him.

About a year after his removal he had occasion to speak to the file-cutter, and sought him at the Lamb, where a number of Count Frolinger’s retainers were sitting.  Adam took no notice of them, but they began to jeer and mock at him.  For a time he succeeded in controlling himself, but when red-haired Valentine went too far, a sudden fit of rage overpowered him and he felled him to the floor.  The others now attacked him and dragged him to their master’s castle, where he lay imprisoned for six months.  At last he was brought before the count, who restored him to liberty “for the sake of Florette’s beautiful eyes.”

Years had passed since then, during which Adam had lived a quiet, industrious life in the Richtberg with his son.  He associated with no one, except Doctor Costa, in whom he found the first and only real friend fate had ever bestowed upon him.

CHAPTER III.

Father Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return from imprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery.  As the monk in his youth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite of his ecclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy monastery, and had formerly come to the smithy in the market-place with many a horse, but since the monks had become involved in a quarrel with the city, Benedict ordered the animals to be shod elsewhere.

A difficult case reminded him of the skilful, half-forgotten artisan; and when the latter came out of the shed with a sack of coal, Benedict greeted him with sincere warmth.  Adam, too, showed that he was glad to see the unexpected visitor, and placed his skill at the disposal of the monastery.

“It has grown late, Adam,” said the monk, loosening the belt he was accustomed to wear when riding, which had become damp.  “The storm overtook us on the way.  The rolling and flashing overhead made the sorrel horse almost tear Gotz’s hands off the wrists.  Three steps sideways and one forward—­so it has grown late, and you can’t shoe the rascal in the dark.”