n the fiddler went to play the next day at the inn men
turned away from him, and a child in the street threw a stone at him.
Presently he was warned that he had better swiftly fly or else he would
be drowned as a sorcerer.

"So he and Elisinde fled in the night to a neighbouring village. But
soon the dark rumours followed them, and they were forced to flee once
more. This happened again and again, till at last in the whole country
there was not a village which would receive them, and one night they
were obliged to take refuge in a barn, for Elisinde was expecting the
birth of her child. That night their child was born, a beautiful little
boy, and an hour afterwards Elisinde smiled and died.

"All that night the villagers heard from afar a piteous wailing music,
infinitely sad and beautiful, and those that heard it shuddered and
crossed themselves.

"The next day the villagers sought the barn, for they had resolved to
drown the sorcerer; but he was not there. All they found was the dead
body of Elisinde, and a little baby lying on some straw. The body
of Elisinde was covered with roses. And this was strange, for it was
midwinter. The fiddler had disappeared and was never heard of again, and
an old wood-cutter, who was too old to know any better, took charge of
the baby.

"I will tell you what happened to it another day."

* * * * *

"We wish to hear the end of your story," said the ex-Prime Minister to
the flute-player.

"Yes," said the scholar, "and I want to know who the fiddler was."

This conversation took place at the Green Tower two weeks after the
gathering I have already described. The same people were present;
but there was another guest, namely, the musician, who, unlike the
flute-player, was not an amateur.

"The child of Elisinde and the fiddler," began the flute-player, "was,
as I have already told you, a boy. The woodcutter who took pity on him
was old and childless. He brought the baby to his hut, and gave it over
to the care of his wife. At first she pretended to be angry, and said
that nothing would persuade her to have anything to do with the child,
and that it was all they could do to feed themselves without picking up
waifs in the gutter; but she ended by looking after the baby with the
utmost tenderness and care, and by loving it as much as if it had been
her own child. The baby was christened Franz. As soon as he was able to
walk and talk there were two things about him which were remarka