her hand away, and shuddered as though she had seen the booty of a
murderer.

After the birth of her boy she lost these morbid feelings; Gottfried on
the other hand seemed to dwindle from month to month. Though he
outlasted the years, there was no cheer left in him and he got no
comfort even from his growing boy. When he had sold all his own wares,
he took those of others, and dragged himself wearily in summer and
winter from village to village.

In spite of the scarcity that prevailed in the house, Marian was
convinced that Gottfried had put by money, and certain hints which he
threw out confirmed her in this hope. It was one of his peculiar views
that it was better to leave his wife in the dark regarding the true
state of their fortunes. As their circumstances grew worse, he became
wholly silent on this point.

III

On the square of the grain merchants in Nuremberg, Jason Philip
Schimmelweis, the husband of Marian's sister, had his bookbinder's shop.

Schimmelweis was a Westphalian. Hatred against the junkers and the
priests had driven him to this Protestant city of the South, where from
the beginning he had acquired the respect of people through his ready
wit and speech. Theresa Hoellriegel had lodged in the house in which he
opened his shop, and gained her living as a seamstress. He had thought
that she had some money, but it had proved to be too little for his
ambitious notions. When he discovered that, he treated Theresa as though
she had cheated him.

He held his trade in contempt, and was ambitious of greater things. He
felt that he was called to be a bookseller; but he had no capital
wherewith to realise this plan. So he sat morosely in his subterranean
shop, pasted and folded and quarrelled with his lot, and in his hours of
leisure read the writings of socialists and freethinkers.

It was the Autumn in which the war against France was raging. On that
very morning had come the news of the battle of Sedan. All the church
bells were ringing.

To the surprise of Jason Philip, Gottfried Nothafft stepped into his
shop. His long, patriarchal beard and tall stature gave something
venerable to his appearance, even though his face looked tired and his
eyes were dull.

"God bless you, brother," he said and held out his hand. "The fatherland
has better luck than its citizens."

Schimmelweis, who did not like the visits of kinsmen, returned the
salutation with careful cooln