much as Master Gossenprot was full of tidings from Venice,
and of Sir Franz's latter end, which, indeed, was enough to sadden the
most mirthful.

When the Bohemian had come to Venice he had lodged at a tavern, by name
"The Mirror," and there mine host had deemed that he was but a gloomy
and silent guest. And it fell that one day the city was full of a
dreadful uproar, whereas it was rumored that in the afternoon, at the
hour when Dame Ursula Giustiniani was wont to fare forth in her gondola,
a strange man clad in black had leaped into it from his own and, before
the serving-men could lay hands on him, he had stabbed her many times to
the heart with his dagger. Then, as they were about to seize him, he
had turned the murderous weapon still wet with his victim's blood, on
himself, and thus escaped the avenging hand of justice.

As soon as the host of The Mirror heard this tale, he minded him of that
strange, dark man and, when that way-farer came not home to his inn, he
made report thereof to the judges. Then, on making search in his wallet,
it was discovered that he had entered there under a false name, and that
it was Sir Franz von Welemisl who had taken such terrible vengeance on
Ursula for her sins against himself and Herdegen.

From Augsburg we now made good speed, and when, one fine June morning,
our proud old citadel greeted our eyes from afar, and I saw that
Herdegen's eyes were wet as he gazed upon it, mine eyes likewise filled
with tears, and as we rode we clasped hands fervently, but in silence.

I sent forward a messenger from our last halting-place to give tidings
of our coming; and when, hard by Schweinau, behold a cloud of dust, our
eyes met and told more than many and eloquent words.

Great and pure and thankful joy filled and bore up my soul; but
presently the cloud of dust was hid by a turn in the road behind the
trees, and even so, quoth my fearful heart, the shroud of the future hid
what next might befall us.

The cruel blows of fate which had fallen on Herdegen had not been all in
vain, and the growing weakness of his frame warned him not to spend his
strength and eagerness on new and ever new things. Yet what troubled me
was that he was not aware of the changes that had come upon him within
and without. From all his speech with me I perceived that, even now,
he might not conceive that life could be other than as he desired:
notwithstanding it gave me secret joy to look upon this dear fellow, for