"'Truth to say, this is extraordinary!' cried the burgomaster; 'the
devil's to pay.' Well, the chamber was much visited; the walls were
replastered, and the dead man was sent to Neustadt.

"The registrar wrote this marginal note:

"'Died of apoplexy.'

"All Nuremberg was enraged against the innkeeper. There were many,
indeed, who wished to force him to take down his iron crossbeam, under
the pretext that it inspired people with dangerous ideas; but you may
well believe that old Michael Schmidt would not lend his ear to this
proposition.

"'This crossbeam,' said he, 'was placed here by my grandfather; it has
borne the sign of Boeuf-Gras for one hundred and fifty years, from
father to son; it harms no one, not even the hay wagons which pass
beneath, for it is thirty feet above them. Those who don't like it can
turn their heads aside, and not see it.'

"Well, gradually the town calmed down, and, during several months, no
new event agitated it. Unhappily, a student of Heidelberg, returning to
the university, stopped, day before yesterday, at the Inn Boeuf-Gras,
and asked for lodging. He was the son of a minister of the gospel.

"How could anyone suppose that the son of a pastor could conceive the
idea of hanging himself on the crossbeam of a signboard, because a big
monsieur and an old soldier had done so? We must admit, Master
Christian, that the thing was not probable; these reasons would not
have seemed sufficient to myself or to you."

"Enough, enough!" I exclaimed; "this is too horrible! I see a frightful
mystery involved in all this. It is not the crossbeam; it is not the
room--"

"What! Do you suspect the innkeeper, the most honest man in the world,
and belonging to one of the oldest families in Nuremberg?"

"No, no; may God preserve me from indulging in unjust suspicions! but
there is an abyss before me, into which I scarcely dare glance."

"You are right," said Toubac, astonished at the violence of my
excitement. "We will speak of other things. Apropos, Master Christian,
where is our landscape of 'Saint Odille'?"

This question brought me back to the world of realities. I showed the
old man the painting I had just completed. The affair was soon
concluded, and Toubac, well satisfied, descended the ladder, entreating
me to think no more of the student of Heidelberg.

I would gladly have followed my good friend's counsel; but, when the
devil once mixes himself up in our concerns, it is not easy to
disem