he world sufficiently to be aware that
within the walls of Ilium and without enormities are committed."
--[Horace, Epist. 1, 2, 16.]

"A true statement," replied Lienhard. "It probably applies to me as much
as to the young girl, but there was really nothing between us which bore
the most distant resemblance to a love intrigue. As a magistrate, I
acquitted her of a trivial misdemeanour which she committed while my
wedding procession was on its way to the altar. I did this because I was
unwilling to have that happy hour become a source of pain to any one. In
return, she grew deeply attached to me, who can tell whether from mere
gratitude, or because a warmer feeling stirred her strange heart? At that
time she was certainly a pretty, dainty creature, and yet, as truly as I
hope to enjoy the love of my darling wife for many a year, there was
nothing, absolutely nothing, between me and the blue-eyed, dark-haired
wanderer which the confessor might not have witnessed. I myself wonder at
this, because I by no means failed to see the ropedancer's peculiar
changeful charms, and the tempter pointed them out to me zealously
enough. Besides, she has no ordinary nature. She had accomplished really
marvellous feats in her art, until at Augsburg, during the Reichstag,
when in the Emperor's presence, she risked the most daring ventures--"

"Could it be the same person who, before our poor Juliane's eyes, had the
awful fall which frightened the child so terribly?" asked Doctor
Peutinger earnestly.

"The very same," replied Lienhard in a tone of sincere pity; but the
Augsburg doctor continued, sighing:

"With that sudden fright, which thrilled her sensitive nature to its
inmost depths, began the illness of the angel whose rich, loving heart
throbbed so tenderly for you also, Herr Lienhard."

"As mine did for the peerless child," replied the young Councillor with
eager warmth. "While Juliane, who sickened at the sight of the girl
dancing on the edge of the grave, was pointing out to me some pages in
the manuscript of Lucian, which I was to take from you to Herr Wilibald
yonder, the unfortunate performer met with the terrible accident. We
thought that she was killed, but, as if by a miracle, she lived.
Ropedancing, of course, was over forever, as she had lost a foot. This,
we supposed, would tend to her welfare and induce her to lead a regular,
decorous life; but we were mistaken. In spite of her lameness, Kuni's
restless nature drove