“I have thought for some days that the house was watched, and I do not like that.  Some one may have got wind of her being here, or may be tempted by the reports of my hoard of gold.  It is not hidden here, but they may think it is.  There is danger in the air.  I can smell it.

“I have trusted no man as I am trusting you now.  I have been looking for some means of sending her away to Tomaso, her father’s old friend, but the thing has been most difficult to arrange.  I dare not wait longer.  Will you take her away, with her nurse Maddalena, and protect her as if she were your sister?  You will have the aid of Giovanni, though he has never known this secret.”

Alan’s eyes met those of the old man eagerly and frankly.  “Master Stefano,” he answered, “I will guard her with my life.  But can she be ready to go at once?”

Stefano nodded.  “The preparations that remain to be made will take no more than an hour or two.  She is a good traveler.  My servant will secure horses for you and meet you just before sunrise, near the gate.  Maddalena will come there with her, and you must not ride so fast as to arouse curiosity.  I have to play the buffoon at a banquet to-night, and there is but little time, therefore—­addio!”

Alan walked home slowly, pondering on all he had seen and heard that day.  Coming within sight of his lodgings, he found the street full of people gazing at the windows, out of which a thick smoke was pouring.

“What has happened here?” he asked of a little inn-keeper from Boulogne, with whom he had some acquaintance.

“They say it is the devil,” the other replied with a shrug.  “Mortally anxious to see him they seem to be.”

Alan shouldered his way through the crowd and ran up the stairs.  Half way up he met Simon reeling down, and caught him by the arm.  “What have you been about?” he asked sternly.

“The gold is bew-witched!” bubbled Simon, arms waving and eyes rolling in terrified despair.  “It is changed in the crucible!  It is the work of Satan!”

“Nonsense!” said Alan roughly.  “You have been roasting the wrong ore.  I could have told you it was not true gold.  Be quiet, or we shall be driven out of Goslar.”

Simon was too distracted to heed, and Alan went hastily up to the rooms, where he found some copper pyrites in process of oxidation, giving forth volumes of strangling sulphur smoke.  After quenching the fire and doing what he could to purify the air he gathered his belongings together and left the house, extremely annoyed.  He could see suspicion and even threatening in the look of the crowd.

He went into the alley where Martin Bouvin’s little inn was and asked shelter for the night.

“I go away to-morrow,” he said, “and there is no returning to that place for hours to come.”

“H’m!” said the inn-keeper.  “What really happened?”

Alan explained.  “My faith,” commented Bouvin, decanting some wine into his guest’s cup, “you are well rid of that fellow.  Do you know that he has been spying on you for a week?  He dared not follow you, but he tried to hire some one else to do it—­that I know.”