tto upon his part lay, full of
wonder, gazing back upon the little elfin creature.

She, seeing that he made no sign or motion, stepped a little nearer, and
then, after a moment's pause, a little nearer still, until, at last, she
stood within a few feet of where he lay.

"Art thou the Baron Otto?" said she.

"Yes," answered Otto.

"Prut!" said she, "and is that so! Why, I thought that thou wert a great
tall fellow at least, and here thou art a little boy no older than Carl
Max, the gooseherd." Then, after a little pause--"My name is Pauline,
and my father is the Baron. I heard him tell my mother all about thee,
and so I wanted to come here and see thee myself: Art thou sick?"

"Yes," said Otto, "I am sick."

"And did my father hurt thee?"

"Aye," said Otto, and his eyes filled with tears, until one sparkling
drop trickled slowly down his white face.

Little Pauline stood looking seriously at him for a while. "I am sorry
for thee, Otto," said she, at last. And then, at her childish pity, he
began crying in earnest.

This was only the first visit of many from the little maid, for after
that she often came to Otto's prison, who began to look for her coming
from day to day as the one bright spot in the darkness and the gloom.

Sitting upon the edge of his bed and gazing into his face with wide open
eyes, she would listen to him by the hour, as he told her of his life in
that far away monastery home; of poor, simple brother John's wonderful
visions, of the good Abbot's books with their beautiful pictures, and of
all the monkish tales and stories of knights and dragons and heroes and
emperors of ancient Rome, which brother Emmanuel had taught him to read
in the crabbed monkish Latin in which they were written.

One day the little maid sat for a long while silent after he had ended
speaking. At last she drew a deep breath. "And are all these things that
thou tellest me about the priests in their castle really true?" said
she.

"Yes," said Otto, "all are true."

"And do they never go out to fight other priests?"

"No," said Otto, "they know nothing of fighting."

"So!" said she. And then fell silent in the thought of the wonder of
it all, and that there should be men in the world that knew nothing of
violence and bloodshed; for in all the eight years of her life she had
scarcely been outside of the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen.

At another time it was of Otto's mother that they were speaking.

"And didst t