hope, for she said to herself, "This man has known my
Hans, for he too could imprint letters;" and she eagerly inquired his
name.

Father Gottlieb said that the name of the stranger was Johann Gutenberg,
and that he was tall and dark, and spoke with a northern tongue. He
promised Frau Gensfleisch, however, that she should see him and question
him herself about her son, as soon as the stranger returned from the
palace of the Archbishop, where had gone to exhibit his wonderful book,
and he left her in his cell, promising to return and fetch her when the
stranger should arrive.

Frau Gensfleisch sat in silence and alone for two heavy hours. She heard
bell after bell rung, which summoned the monks to their prayers or to
their meals. And many a passing footstep made her cheeks flush and her
pulse quicken, as she said to herself, "Now, I shall hear about my son;"
and she repeated over to herself all the questions that she would ask
and the messages she would send, in case the stranger really knew her
Hans; when at last the door of the cell was unlocked and the Father
Gottlieb came.

He said he would take her to the apartment of the Superior, to which the
traveller had been summoned on his return from the Archbishop, and there
she could wait until he had time enough to speak with her about her son.
When Frau Gensfleisch entered the room of the Superior, a crowd of monks
was so gathered round the stranger that she could see neither his face
nor form. He was opening out his wonderful volume, and the curious monks
pressed eagerly round him. Loud and long were their exclamations of
surprise as the book was opened, and page after page displayed. It was
wonderful--it was marvellous--It was not like the work of hands, they
said no scribe or copyist would write each letter so like another, and
they said it must be done by magic, for that no mortal hands could write
so wonderfully plain and exact and regular; and they questioned the
stranger about his method of _imprinting_ but he replied to all
their questioning, "It is not magic, holy fathers, but it is patience
which hath done it."

Scarcely had these words been uttered, when catching the ear of Frau
Gensfleisch, she started from her seat, and pushing aside the monks, who
stood around the stranger, she made her way up to him, and she said, as
she laid hold of his cloak and looked him in the face, "Stranger, what
is thy name--what is thy true name? Is it not Hans Gensfleisch-