The burden which he shared with his assistants was a light one, but he was not to reach his destination without delay—­the little bunch of pinks fell from the hand of the unconscious girl, and Dietel silently picked up the stolen property which had just roused his wrath to such a degree, and placed it carefully on the senseless sufferer’s bosom.

The second hinderance was more serious.  Cyriax had heard that Kuni was dying, and fearing that he might be obliged to pay the funeral expenses he stuttered to the bystanders, with passionate gestures, that an hour ago he had discharged the cripple whom he had dragged about with him, out of sheer sympathy, long enough.  She was nothing more to him now than the cock in the courtyard, which was crowing to greet the approach of dawn.

But the landlord of The Pike and others soon forced Cyriax out of the way.  Kuni was laid on Dietel’s bed, and the gray-haired leech examined her with the utmost care.

The landlady of The Pike helped to undress her, and when the good woman, holding her apron to her eyes from which tears were streaming, opened the door again and the Abbot of St. AEgidius approached the couch, to render aid to the dying for the second time that night, he saw by Hartmann Schedel’s face that he had not come too soon.

The ropedancer had recovered consciousness, and the kind prelate’s presence was a solace to her.  The confession lasted a long time, and the story which she had to confide to the priest must have been as strange as it was interesting, for the abbot listened eagerly and with evident emotion.  When he had performed the duties of his office he remained alone for a time; he could not immediately regain a mood in which he cared to rejoin the others.  He did not ask for the gentlemen from Cologne; those from Nuremberg, whom he sought, had returned to the table in front of the tavern long before.

The waves of the Main were now reflecting the golden light of the morning sun.  Dewdrops glittered on the grass and flowers in the meadow with the cart, and in the landlady’s little garden.  Carriers’ men were harnessing the freshly groomed bays to the pole.  The brass rings on the high collars of the stallions jingled loudly and merrily, and long whiplashes cracked over the four and six-horse teams which were beginning the day’s journey along the highroad.

But even the rattling of the carts and the trampling of the horses’ hoofs could not rouse the Cologne professors, who, with their clerical companions, had gone to rest, and slept in darkened rooms until late into the morning.  Most of the humbler guests had already left their straw beds.