And what did this mean?

The honourable member of the Nuremberg Council must be well acquainted with the girl, for his eyes had scarcely met hers ere a strange smile flitted over his grave, manly face.

Now—­was it in jest or earnest?—­he even shook his finger at her.  He stopped in front of her a moment, too, and Dietel heard him exclaim: 

“So here you are!  On the highway again, in spite of everything?”

The distance which separated them and the loud talking of the guests prevented the waiter’s hearing her reply, “The captive bird can not endure the cage long, Herr Lienhard,” far less the words, added in a lower tone: 

“Yet flight has been over since my fall at Augsburg.  My foot lies buried there with many other things which will never return.  I can only move on wheels behind the person who takes me.”  Then she paused and ventured to look him full in the face.  Her eyes met his beaming with a radiant light, but directly after they were dimmed by a mist of tears.  Yet she forced them back, though the deep suffering from which they sprung was touchingly apparent in the tone of her voice, as she continued: 

“I have often wished, Herr Lienhard, that the cart was my coffin and the tavern the graveyard.”

Dietel noticed the fit of coughing which followed this speech, and the hasty movement with which the Nuremberg patrician thrust his hand into his purse and tossed Kuni three coins.  They did not shine with the dull white lustre of silver, but with the yellow glitter of gold.  The waiter’s eyes were sharp and he had his own ideas about this unprecedented liberality.

The travelling companions of the aristocratic burgomaster and ambassadors of the proud city of Nuremberg had also noticed this incident.

After they had taken their seats at the handsomely ornamented table, Wilibald Pirckheimer bent toward the ear of his young friend and companion in office, whispering: 

“The lovely wife at home whom you toiled so hard to win, might, I know, rest quietly, secure in the possession of all the charms of foam-born Aphrodite, yet I warn you.  Whoever is as sure of himself as you cares little for the opinion of others.  And yet we stand high, friend Lienhard, and therefore are seen by all; but the old Argus who watches for his neighbour’s faults has a hundred sharp eyes, while among the gods three are blind—­Justice, Happiness, and Love.  Besides, you flung gold to yonder worthless rabble.  I would rather have given it to the travelling musicians.  They, like us humanists, are allied to the Muses and, moreover, are harmless, happy folk.”

Lienhard Groland listened till his older friend had finished.  Then, after thanking him for his well-meant counsel, he answered, turning to the others also: 

“In better days rope-dancing was the profession of yonder poor, coughing creature.  Now, after a severe accident, she is dragging herself through life on one foot.  I once knew her, for I succeeded in saving her from terrible disgrace.”