Frau Schurstab, in her friendly consideration, shortened the, conference.
Lienhard Uroland had helped her with a few words, and when the sedan
chair and the young Councillor moved down the street all the necessary
details were settled. The vagrant had bound herself and assumed duties,
though they were very light ones. She was to move that evening into the
distinguished widow's house, not as a servant, but as the old lady's
assistant.

Loni, the manager of the company of rope-dancers, had watched the
negotiations from the taproom. During their progress each of the three
windows was filled with heads, but no one had been able to hear what was
whispered in the street. Just as the curious spectators were hoping that
now they might perhaps guess what the aristocratic lady wanted with Kuni,
the sedan chair began to move, and the young girl entered the hot room to
tell Loni that she would leave the company that day forever.

"In-de-e-ed?" Loni asked in astonishment, lifting the gold circlet which
rested on his head. Then he passed his hand through the coal-black hair
which, parted in the middle, fell in smooth strands upon his neck, and
exerted all his powers of persuasion to convince her of the folly of her
plan. After his arguments were exhausted he raised his voice louder. As
usual, when excited by anger, he swung his lower right arm to and fro,
feeling the prominent muscles with his left hand. But Kuni remained
resolute, and when he at last perceived that his opposition only
increased her obstinacy, he exclaimed:

"Then rush on to your destruction! The day will come when you will see
where you belong. If only it doesn't arrive too late. A man grows twelve
and a woman thirty-six months older every year."

With these words he turned his back upon her, and the clown brought the
amount of wages which was due.

Many an eye grew dim with tears when Kuni bade farewell to her
companions. Shortly after sunset she was welcomed to Frau Schurstab's
house.

The first greeting was friendly, and she received nothing but kindness
and indulgent treatment afterward. She had a sunny chamber of her own,
and how large and soft her bed was! But while, when on the road with
Loni's band, if they could reach no town, she had often slept soundly and
sweetly on a heap of straw, here she spent one restless night after
another.

During the first a series of questions disturbed her slumber. Was it
really only the desire to take her from her vagabond life which had
induced Lienhard to open this house to her? Did he not perhaps also
cherish the wish to keep her near him? He had certainly come to her with
Frau Schurstab to protect her reputation. Had it not been so he might
have left the matron at home; for Loni and everybody in the company knew
that she never troubled herself about gossip. Last year she had obtained
a leave of absence from Loni, who was making a tour of the little Frank
towns, and spent the carnival season in revelry with a sergeant of the
Nurembreg soldiers. When the booty he had gained in Italy was squandered,
she gave him his dismissal. Her reputation among her companions was
neither better nor worse than that of the other strolling players who,
like her, were born on the highway, yet she was glad that Lienhard had
tried to spare her. Or had he only come with the old noblewoman on
account of his own fair name?

Perhaps--her pulses again throbbed faster at the thought--he had not
ventured to come alone because some feeling for her stirred in his own
heart, and, spite of his beautiful young wife, he did not feel safe from
her. Then Fran Schurstab was to serve as a shield. This conjecture
flattered her vanity and reconciled her to the step which she had taken
and already began to regret.

But suppose he really felt no more for her than the forester who finds a
child lost in the woods, and guides it into the right path? How would she
endure that? Yet, were it otherwise, if he was like the rest of men, if
he profited by what her whole manner must betray to him, how should she
face his wife, who undoubtedly would soon come to call on her aunt?

All these questions roused a tumult of unprecedented violence in her
young, ardent, inexperienced soul, which was renewed each successive
night. It became more and more difficult for her to understand why she
had left Loni's band and entered into relations for which she was not
suited, and in which she could never, never be at ease or feel happy.

Nothing was lacking in this wealthy household, not even kindness and
love. Frau Sophia was indulgent and friendly, even when Kuni, whose heart
and brain were occupied with so many other thoughts, neglected or forgot
anything. The matron's grandchildren, of whom she often had charge, soon
became warmly attached to her. While among the rope-dancers she had been
fond of children, and many a little one who journeyed with the band held
out its arms to her more joyously than to its own mother. There was
something in her nature that attracted them. Besides, her skilful hands
could show them many a rare trick, and she could sing numerous songs new
to the Schurstab boys and girls, which she had picked up here and there.
Then, too, she permitted many a prank which no one else would have
allowed. Her duties connected with the household linen and the poultry
yard, its owner's pride, were so easily performed, that in her leisure
hours she often voluntarily helped the housekeeper. At first the latter
eyed her askance, but she soon won her affection. Both she and her
mistress showed her as much attention as the gardener bestows upon a wild
plant which he has transferred to good soil, where it thrives under his
care.

She kept aloof from the servants, and neither man nor maid molested her.
Perhaps this was due to foolish arrogance, for after they had learned
from rumour that Kuni had danced on the tight rope, they considered
themselves far superior. The younger maids timidly kept out of her way,
and Kuni surpassed them in pride and looked down upon them, because her
free artist blood rebelled against placing herself on the plane of a
servitor. She did not vouchsafe them a word, yet neither did she allow
any of them to render her even the most trivial service. But she could
not escape Seifried, the equerry of her mistress's eldest son. At first,
according to her custom, she had roused the handsome fellow's hopes by
fiery glances which she could not restrain. Now he felt that she cared
for him, and in his honest fashion offered to make her his beloved wife;
but she refused his suit, at first kindly, then angrily. As he still
persisted she begged the housekeeper, though she saw that matchmaking was
her delight, to keep him away.

Even in March Frau Sophia thanked Lienhard for the new inmate of her
household, who far exceeded her expectations. In April her praise became
still warmer, only she regretted that Kuni's pretty face was losing its
fresh colour and her well-formed figure its roundness. She was sorry,
too, that she so often seemed lost in thought, and appeared less merry
while playing with the children.

Lienhard and his young wife excused the girl's manner. Comfortable as she
was now, she was still a prisoned bird. It would be unnatural, nay,
suspicious, if she did not sometimes long for the old freedom and her
former companions. She would also remember at times the applause of the
multitude. The well-known Loni, her former employer, had besought him to
win her back to his company, complaining loudly of her loss, because it
was difficult to replace her with an equally skilful young artist. It was
now evident how mistaken the juggler had been when he asserted that Kuni,
who was born among vagrants, would never live in a respectable family.
He, Lienhard, had great pleasure in knowing that the girl, on the road to
ruin, had been saved by Frau Sophia's goodness.

Lienhard's father had died shortly after Kuni entered her new home. Every
impulse to love dalliance, she felt, must shrink before this great
sorrow. The idea sustained her hopes. She could not expect him to seek
her again until the first bitterness of grief for the loss of this
beloved relative had passed away. She could wait, and she succeeded in
doing so patiently.

But week after week went by and there was no change in his conduct. Then
a great anxiety overpowered her, and this did not escape his notice; for
one day, while his young wife hung on his arm and added a few brief words
of sympathy, he asked Kuni if she was ill or if she needed anything; but
she answered curtly in the negative and hurried into the garden, where
the children, with merry shouts, were helping the gardener to free the
beds of crocuses and budding tulips from the pine boughs which had
protected them from the frosts of winter.

Another sleepless night followed this incident. It was useless to deceive
herself. She might as well mistake black for white as to believe that
Lienhard cared for her. To no one save his fair young wife would he grant
even the smallest ray of the love of which he was doubtless capable, and
in which she beheld the sun that dispensed life and light. She had
learned this, for he had often met her in Frau Sophia's house since his
father's funeral. The child of the highway had never been taught to
conceal her feelings and maintain timid reserve. Her eyes had told him
eloquently enough, first her deep sympathy, and afterward the emotions
which so passionately stirred her heart. Had the feelings which her
glances were intended to reveal passed merely for the ardent gratitude of
an impassioned soul?

Gratitude! For what?

His lukewarm interest had tempted her from a free, gay life, full of
constant excitement, into the oppressive, wearisome monotony of this
quiet house, where she was dying of ennui. How narrow, how petty, how
tiresome everything seemed, and what she had bartered for it was the
world, the whole wide, wide world. As the chicken lured the fox, the hope
of satisfying the fervent longing of her heart, though even once and for
a few brief moments, had brought her into the snare. But the fire which
burned within had not been extinguished. An icy wind had fanned the
flames till they blazed higher and higher, threatening her destruction.

Frau Schurstab had made her attend church and go to the confessional. But
the mass, whose meaning she did not understand, offered no solace to the
soul which yearned for love alone. Besides, it wearied her to remain so
long in the same place, and the confession forced the girl, who had never
shrunk from honestly expressing what she felt, into deception. The priest
to whom she was taken was a frequent visitor at the Schurstab house, and
she would have died ere she would have confided to him the secret of her
heart. Besides, to her the feeling which animated her was no sin. She had
not summoned it. It had taken possession of her against her will and
harmed no one except herself, not even the wife who was so sure of her
husband. How could she have presumed to dispute with her the possession
of Herr Lienhard's love? Yet it seemed an insult that Frau Katharina had
no fear that she could menace her happiness. Could the former know that
Kuni would have been content with so little--a tender impulse of his
heart, a kiss, a hasty embrace? That would do the other no injury. In the
circles whence she had been brought no one grudged another such things.
How little, she thought, would have been taken from the wealthy Katharina
by the trifling gift which would have restored to her happiness and
peace. The fact that Lienhard, though he never failed to notice her,
would not understand, and always maintained the same pleasant,
aristocratic reserve of manner, she sometimes attributed to fear,
sometimes to cruelty, sometimes to arrogance; she would not believe that
he saw in her only a person otherwise indifferent to him, whom he wished
to accustom to the mode of life which he and his friends believed to be
the right path, pleasing in the sight of God. Love, feminine vanity, the
need of approval, her own pride--all opposed this view.

When the last snow of winter had melted, and the spring sunshine of April
was unfolding the green leafage and opening bright flowers in the
meadows, the hedges, the woods, and the gardens, she found the new home
which she had entered during the frosts of February, and whose solid
walls excluded every breath of air, more and more unendurable. A gnawing
feeling of homesickness for the free out-of-door life, the wandering from
place to place, the careless, untrammelled people to whom she belonged,
took possession of her. She felt as though everything which surrounded
her was too small, the house, the apartments, her own chamber, nay, her
very clothing. Only the hope of the first token that Lienhard was not so
cold and unconquerable as he seemed, that she would at last constrain him
to pass the barrier which separated them, still detained her.

Then came the day when, to avoid answering his question whether she
needed anything, she had gone into the garden. Before reaching the
children, who were playing among the crocuses and tulips, she had said to
herself that she must leave this house--it was foolish, nay mad, to
continue to cherish the hope which had brought her hither. She would
suffer keenly in tearing it from her heart, but a wild delight seized her
at the thought that this imprisonment would soon be over, that she would
be free once more, entirely her own mistress, released from every
restraint and consideration. How rapturous was the idea that she would
soon be roving through the fields and woods again with gay, reckless
companions! Was there anything more pleasurable than to forget herself,
and devote her whole soul to the execution of some difficult and
dangerous feat, to attract a thousand eyes by her bewitching grace, and,
sustained by her enthusiasm, force a thousand hearts to throb anxiously
and give loud applause as she flew over the rope?

Never had the children seen her more extravagantly gay than after her
resolve to leave them. Yet when, at a late hour, Kuni went to bed, the
old housekeeper heard her weeping so piteously in her chamber that she
rose to ask what had happened. But the girl did not even open her door,
and declared that she had probably had the nightmare.

During the next few days she sometimes appeared more cheerful and docile,
sometimes more dull and troubled than her household companions had ever
seen her. Frau Schurstab shook her head over her protegee's varying
moods. But when the month of May began, and Lienhard told his aunt that
Loni, who had only remained in Nuremberg during Lent to spend the time
when all public performances were prohibited, had applied to the Council
for permission to give exhibitions with his company Easter week in the
Haller Meadows, the matron was troubled about her protegee's peace of
mind. Her nephew had had the same thought, and advised her to move to her
country estate, that Kuni might see and hear nothing of the jugglers; but
she had noticed the clown with other members of the company, as they
passed through the streets on foot and mounted on horses and donkeys,
inviting the people, with blare of trumpets and beating of drums, to
witness the wonderful feats which Loni's famous band of artists would
perform.

Then Kuni packed her bundle. But when she heard the next morning that,
before going to the country, Frau Schurstab would attend the christening
of her youngest grandson, and spend the whole day with the daughter who
was the little boy's mother, she untied it.

One sunny May morning she was left alone, as she had expected. She could
not be invited to the ceremony with the other guests, and she would not
join the servants. The housekeeper and most of the men and maids had
accompanied their mistress to help in the kitchen and to wait upon the
visitors. Deep silence reigned throughout the great empty house, but
Kuni's heart had never throbbed so loudly. If Lienhard came now, her fate
would be decided, and she knew that he must come. Just before noon, he
really did rap with the knocker on the outer door. He wanted the
christening gift, which Frau Schurstab had forgotten to take for the
infant. The money was in the chest in the matron's room. Kuni led the
way. The house seemed to reel around her as she went up the stairs behind
him. The next moment, she felt, must decide her destiny.

Now he laid his hand upon the doorknob, now he opened the door. The
widow's chamber was before her. Thick silk curtains shut out the bright
May sunshine from the quiet room. How warm and pleasant it was!

She already saw herself in imagination kneeling by his side before the
chest to help him search. While doing so, his fingers might touch hers,
perhaps her hair might brush against his. But, instead of entering, he
turned to her with careless unconcern, saying:

"It is fortunate that I have found you alone. Will you do me a favour,
girl?"

He had intended to ask her to help him prepare a surprise for his aunt.
The day after to-morrow was Frau Sophia Schurstab's birthday. Early in
the morning she must find among her feathered favourites a pair of rare
India fowls, which he had received from Venice.

As Kuni did not instantly assent, because the wild tumult of her blood
paralyzed her tongue, he noticed her confusion, and in an encouraging
tone, gaily continued:

"What I have to ask is not too difficult." As he spoke he passed his hand
kindly over her dark hair, just as he had done a few months before in the
Town Hall.

Then the blood mounted to her brain. Clasping his right hand, beneath
whose touch she had just trembled, in both her own, she passionately
exclaimed:

"Ask whatever you desire. If you wanted to trample my heart under your
feet, I would not stir."

A look of ardent love from her sparkling blue eyes accompanied the words;
but he had withdrawn his hand in astonishment, and raised a lofty barrier
between them by answering coldly and sternly, "Keep the heart and your
dainty self for the equerry Seifried who is an honest man."

The advice, and the lofty austerity with which it was given, pierced Kuni
like the thrust of a dagger. Yet she succeeded controlling herself, and,
without a word reply, preceded the harsh man into the sleeping room and
silently, tearlessly, pointed the chest. When he had taken out the money,
she bowed hastily and ran down the stairs.

Probably she heard him call her name more than three times; doubtless,
afterward she fancied that she remembered how his voice had sounded in
beseeching, tender, at last even imperious tones through the empty
corridors; but she did not turn, and hurried into her room.




CHAPTER V.

When, on the evening of the christening day, Lienhard accompanied his
aunt home, Kuni was nowhere to be found. Frau Sophia discovered in her
chamber every article of clothing which she had obtained for her, even
the beaver cap, the prayer-book, and the rosary which she had given. The
young burgomaster, at her request, went to the manager of the
rope-dancers, Loni, the next morning, but the latter asserted that he
knew nothing about the girl. The truth was that he had sent her to
Wurzburg with part of his company.

From that time she had remained with the ropedancers. At first the master
had watched her carefully, that she might not run away again. But he soon
perceived this to be unnecessary; for he had never found any member of
the company more zealous, or seen one make more progress in the art. Now
the only point was to keep her out of the way of other rope-dancers,
English proprietors of circus companies, as well as the numerous knights
and gentlemen who tried to take her from him. Her name had become famous.
When the crier proclaimed that the "flying maiden" would ascend the rope
to the steeple, Loni was sure of a great crowd of spectators. Among her
own profession she had obtained the nickname of crazy Kuni.

Yet even at that time, and in the midst of the freest intercourse with
German, Spanish, and other officers in Flanders and Brabant, young
knights and light-hearted priests on the Rhine, the Main, the Danube, the
Weser, and the Elbe, whose purses the pretty, vivacious girl, with the
shining raven hair and bright blue eyes, the mistress of her art, seemed
to their owners worthy to empty, she had by no means forgotten Lienhard.
This wrought mischief to many a gay gentleman of aristocratic lineage in
the great imperial and commercial cities; for it afforded Kuni special
pleasure to try her power upon Lienhard's equals in rank. When she went
on with the company, more than one patrician had good reason to remember
her with regret; for she, who shared the lion's portion of her earnings
with her companions or flung it to the poor, was insatiably avaricious
toward these admirers.

The weaker she found many of them, the higher, in her opinion, rose the
image of him who had made her feel his manly strength of resistance so
cruelly. His stern, inexorable nature seemed to her worthy of hate, yet
for three whole years the longing for him scarcely left her heart at
peace an hour.

During this whole period she had not met him. Not until after she had
come to Augsburg, where Loni's company was to give several performances
before the assembled Reichstag, did she see him again. Once she even
succeeded in attracting his gaze, and this was done in a way which
afforded her great satisfaction. His beautiful wife, clad in costly
velvet robes, was walking by his side with eyes decorously downcast; but
he had surely recognised her--there was no doubt of that. Yet he omitted
to inform his wife, even by a look, whom he had met here. Kuni watched
the proud couple a long time, and, with the keen insight of a loving
heart, told herself that he would have pointed her out to Frau Katharina,
if he did not remember her in some way--either in kindness or in anger.

This little discovery had sufficed to transfigure, as it were, the rest
of the day, and awaken a throng of new hopes and questions.

Even now she did not desire to win Frau Katharina's husband from her. She
freely acknowledged that the other's beauty was tenfold greater than her
own; but whether the gifts of love which the woman with the cloudless,
aristocratic composure could offer to her husband were not like the
beggar's pence, compared with the overflowing treasure of ardent passion
which she cherished for Lienhard, was a question to which she believed
there could be but a single answer. Was this lady, restricted by a
thousand petty scruples, as well as by her stiff, heavy gala robes, a
genuine woman at all? Ah! if he would only for once cast aside the
foolish considerations which prevented him also from being a genuine man,
clasp her, whom he knew was his own, in his arms, and hold her as long as
he desired, he should learn what a strong, free, fearless woman, whose
pliant limbs were as unfettered as her heart, could bestow upon him to
whom she gave all the love that she possessed! And he must want something
of her which was to be concealed from the wife. She could not be
mistaken. She had never been deceived in a presentiment that was so
positive. Ever since she reached Augsburg, an inner voice had told
her--and old Brigitta's cards confirmed it--that the destiny of her life
would be decided here, and he alone held her weal and woe in his hand.

Yet she had misinterpreted his conduct to his wife. In spite of the
finery which Kuni owed to the generosity of the Knight of Neckerfels, who
was then a suitor for her favour, Lienhard had recognised her. The sight
recalled their last meeting and its painful termination, and therefore he
had omitted to attract Frau Katharina's attention to her immediately.
But, ere Kuni disappeared, he had repaired the oversight, and both
desired to ascertain the fate of their former charge. True, the wish
could not be instantly fulfilled, for Lienhard's time and strength were
wholly claimed by the mission intrusted to him by the Emperor and the
Council.

The next afternoon Kuni ascended the rope to the steeple in the presence
of many princes and dignitaries. Firmly as ever she moved along the rope
stretched through the wooden stay behind her, holding the balancing pole
as she went. The clapping of hands and shouts of applause with which the
crowd greeted "the flying maiden" led her to kiss her hand to the right
and the left, and bow to the stand which had been erected for the crowned
heads, counts, nobles, and their wives. In doing so, she looked down at
the aristocratic spectators to ascertain whether the Emperor and one
other were among them. In spite of the height of the topmost window of
the steeple where she stood, her keen eyes showed her that Maximilian's
seat was still vacant. As it was hung with purple draperies and richly
garlanded, the monarch was evidently expected. This pleased her, and her
heart throbbed faster as she saw on the stand all the nobles who were
entitled to admittance to the lists of a tournament, and, in the front
row, the man whose presence she most desired. At Lienhard's right sat his
dazzlingly beautiful wife, adorned with plumes and the most superb gold
ornaments; at his left was a maiden of extremely peculiar charm.
According to years she was still a child, but her delicate, mobile
features had a mature expression, which sometimes gave her a precocious
air of superiority. The cut of her white robe and the little laurel
wreath on her brown curls reminded Kuni of the pagan Genius on an ancient
work of marble which she had seen in Verona. Neither the girl's age nor
her light, airy costume harmonized with her surroundings; for the maids
and matrons near her were all far beyond childhood, and wore the richest
holiday costumes of heavy brocades and velvets. The huge puffs on the
upper part of the sleeves touched the cheeks of many of the wearers, and
the lace ruffs on the stiff collars rendered it easy, it is true, to
maintain their aristocratic, haughty dignity, but prevented any free,
swift movement.

The young girl who, as Kuni afterward learned, was the daughter of Conrad
Peutinger, of Augsburg, whom she had again seen that day in The Blue
Pike, was then eleven years old. She was sometimes thought to be fifteen
or even sixteen; her mobile face did not retain the same expression a
single instant. When the smile which gave her a childlike appearance
vanished, and any earnest feeling stirred her soul, she really resembled
a mature maiden. What a brilliant, versatile intellect must animate this
remarkable creature! Lienhard, shrewd and highly educated as he was,
seemed to be completely absorbed in his neighbour; nay, in his animated
conversation with her he entirely forgot the beautiful wife at his side;
at least, while Kuni looked down at him, he did not bestow a single
glance upon her. Now he shook his finger mischievously at the child, but
he seemed to be seeking, in mingled amusement and perplexity, to find a
fitting answer. And how brightly Lienhard's eyes sparkled as he fairly
hung upon the sweet red lips of the little marvel at his left--the heart
side! A few minutes had sufficed to show the ropedancer all this, and
suggest the question whether it was possible that the most faithful of
husbands would thus basely neglect, for the sake of a child, the young
wife whom he had won in spite of the hardest obstacles, on whose account
he had so coldly and cruelly rejected her, the object of so much wooing,
and who, this very day, was the fairest of all the beautiful ladies who
surrounded her.

In an instant her active mind transported her to the soul of the hitherto
favoured wife of the man whom she loved, and her strangely constituted
woman's heart filled with resentment against the young creature below,
who had not even attained womanhood, and yet seemed to gain, without
effort, the prize for which she had vainly striven with painful longing.

She, whose heart had remained free from jealousy of the woman who stood
between her and the man she loved, like a solid bulwark erected by Fate
itself, was now suddenly overmastered by this passion.

Yet she did not turn against the person to whom Lienhard belonged, as he
did to the city, or to his own family, and who was united to him by the
will of Heaven, but against the mysterious young creature at his side,
who changed with every passing moment.

This child--no, this maiden--must be a being of some special nature. Like
the sirens of whom she had heard, she possessed the mysterious, enviable
power of conquering the iron resistance of even the strongest man.

Like a flash of lightning, Kuni, whose kind heart cherished resentment
against few and wished no one any evil, suddenly felt an ardent desire to
drive the little witch from Lienhard's side, even by force, if necessary.
Had she held a thunderbolt instead of a balance pole, she would gladly
have struck down the treacherous child from her height--not only because
this enchantress had so quickly won that for which she had vainly
yearned, alas! how long, but because it pierced her very heart to see
Frau Katharina's happiness clouded, nay, perhaps destroyed. A bitterness
usually alien to her light, gay nature had taken possession of her, as,
with the last glance she cast at Lienhard, she saw him bend low over the
child and, with fiery ardour, whisper something which transformed the
delicate pink flush in her cheeks to the hue of the poppy.

Yes, the ropedancer was jealous of the laurel-crowned child. She, who
cared so little for law and duty, virtue and morality, now felt offended,
wounded, tortured by Lienhard's conduct. But there was no time to ponder
over the reason now. She had already delayed too long ere moving forward.

Yet even calm reflection would not have revealed the right answer to the
problem. How could she have suspected that what stirred her passionate
soul so fiercely was grief at the sight of the man whom she had regarded
as the stronghold of integrity, the possessor of the firmest will, the
soul of inviolable fidelity, succumbing here, before the eyes of all,
like a dissolute weakling, to the seductive arts of an immature kobold?
These two, who gave to her, the orphaned vagrant, surrounded by unbridled
recklessness, physical and mental misery, a proof that there was still in
marriage real love and a happiness secure from every assault, were now,
before her eyes, placing themselves on the same plane with the miserable
couples whom she met everywhere. She could not have expressed her
emotions in words, but she vaguely felt that the world had become poorer,
and that henceforth she must think of something more trivial when she
tried to imagine the pure happiness which mortals are permitted to enjoy.
She had seen the blossoms stripped from the scanty remnant of her faith
in truth and goodness, which had begun to bloom afresh in her heart
through the characters of this pair whose marriage procession she had
watched.

Loni had been beckoning a long time; now he waved his gay handkerchief
still more impatiently, and she moved on.

Her lips forced themselves into the customary smile with difficulty.
Tripping forward was an easy matter for one so free from dizziness. She
only carried the pole because it was customary to begin with the least
difficult feats. Yet, while gracefully placing one foot before the other,
she said to herself--safe as she felt--that, while so much agitated, she
would be wiser not to look down again into the depths below. She did
avoid it, and with a swift run gained the end of the rope without effort,
and went up and down it a second time.

While, on reaching the end of her walk, she was chalking her soles again,
the applause which had accompanied her during her dangerous pilgrimage
still rose to her ears, and came-most loudly of all from the stand where
Lienhard sat among the distinguished spectators. He, too, had clapped his
hands lustily, and shouted, "Bravo!" Never had he beheld any ropedancer
display so much grace, strength, and daring. His modest protegee had
become a magnificently developed woman. How could he have imagined that
the unfortunate young creature whom he had saved from disgrace would show
such courage, such rare skill?

He confided his feelings, and the fact that he knew the artist, to his
young neighbour, but she had turned deadly pale and lowered her eyes.
While looking on she had felt as though she herself was in danger of
falling into the depths. Giddiness had seized her, and her heart, whose
tendency to disease had long awakened the apprehension of the physicians,
contracted convulsively. The sight of a fellow-being hovering in mortal
peril above her head seemed unendurable. Not until she followed
Lienhard's advice and avoided looking up, did she regain her calmness.
Her changeful temperament soon recovered its former cheerfulness, and the
friend at her side to whom the lovely child, with her precocious mental
development, appeared like the fairest marvel, took care, often as he
himself looked upward, that she should be guarded from a second attack of
weakness.

The storm of applause from below, in which Lienhard also joined, fanned
the flames of desire for admiration in Kuni's breast to a fiery glow. She
would show him, too, what she could do--compel him to applaud her. She
would force him away from the little temptress, and oblige him to gaze up
at her whose art--she learned this daily--possessed the power to fix the
attention of spectators like the thrall of the basilisk's eye. When on
the rope she was no insignificant personage. He should tremble for her as
did the gray-haired, scarred captain of the foot soldiers, Mannsbach, the
day before yesterday. He had told her that his heart had throbbed more
anxiously during her daring feats than on the bloodiest field of battle.

She moved forward more swiftly to the time of the lively dancing tune
which the city pipers were playing. Midway along the rope she turned, ran
back to the cross-shaped trestle at the steeple window, handed the
balancing pole to Loni, and received a cage filled with doves. Each one
bore around its neck a note containing an expression of homage to the
Emperor Maximilian, and they were all trained to alight near the richly
decorated throne which was now occupied by the chivalrous monarch. The
clown who, with a comical show of respect, offered her what she needed
for her next feat, told her this.

Loni, sure of being heard by no unbidden ear, called to her from the
window:

"Art is honoured to-day, my girl."

The clown added jocosely:

"Who else was ever permitted to walk over the anointed head of our lord
the Emperor?"

But Kuni would not have needed such encouragement. Doubtless she felt
flattered by the consciousness of attracting even the sovereign's glance,
but what she intended to do immediately was for the purpose of compelling
another person to watch her steps with fear and admiration. Crossing her
feet, she threw back her garlanded head and drew a long breath. Then she
hastily straightened herself, and with the bird cage in one hand and the
winged staff of Mercury, which the clown had handed to her, in the other,
she advanced to the centre of the rope. There she opened the cage as
steadily as if she had been standing on the floor of her own room. The
birds fluttered through the little door and went, with a swift flight,
directly to their goal. Then, below and beside her, from every place
occupied by spectators, and from hundreds of windows, rose thunders of
applause; but it seemed to her as if the roaring of the surging sea was
in her ears. Her heart throbbed under her pink silk bodice like an iron
hammer, and in the proud consciousness of having probably attained
already what she desired, and, besides thousands of other eyes, fixed
Lienhard's upon her as if with chains and bonds, she was seized with the
ambitious desire to accomplish something still more amazing. The man to
whom her heart clung, the Emperor, the countless multitude below, were
all at this time subject to her in heart and mind. They could think and
feel nothing except what concerned her, her art, and her fate. She could
and would show to Lienhard, to the Emperor, to all, what they had never
witnessed. They should turn faint with sympathizing anxiety. She would
make then realize what genuine art, skill, and daring could accomplish.
Everything else, even the desire for applause, was forgotten. Though her
performance might be called only a perilous feat, she felt it to be true,
genuine art. Her whole soul was merged in the desire to execute, boldly
and yet gracefully, the greatest and most perfect performance attainable
by a ropedancer. With beads of perspiration on her brow, and eyes
uplifted, she threw the cage aside, swung her Mercury staff aloft, and
danced along the rope in waltz time, as though borne by the gods of the
wind. Whirling swiftly around, her slender figure darted in graceful
curves from one end of the narrow path to the other. Then the applause
reached the degree of enthusiastic madness which she desired; even Loni
clapped his hands from the steeple window. She had never seen him do this
to any of the company. Yes, she must have accomplished her purpose well;
but she would show him and the others something still more wonderful.
What she had just done was capable of many additional feats; she had
tried it.

With fluttering hands and pulses she instantly loosed from her panting
bosom and her hips the garland of roses and leaves twined about the upper
portion of her body, and swung it around her in graceful curves as she
knelt and rose on the rope.

She had often jumped rope on the low rope, turning completely around so
that she faced the other way. To repeat this performance on the one
stretched to the steeple would certainly not be expected from her or from
any other. Suppose she should use the garland as a rope and venture to
leap over it on this giddy height? Suppose she should even succeed in
turning around? The rope was firm. If her plan was successful, she would
have accomplished something unprecedented; if she failed--if, while
turning, she lost her balance--her scanty stock of pleasure here below
would be over, and also her great grief and insatiable yearning. One
thing was certain: Lienhard would watch her breathlessly, nay, tremble
for her. Perhaps it was too much to hope that he would mourn her
sincerely, should the leap cost her life; but he would surely pity her,
and he could never forget the moment of the fall, and therefore herself.
Loni would tear the gold circlet from his dyed black locks and, in his
exaggerated manner, call himself a son of misfortune, and her the
greatest artist who had ever trodden the rope. All Augsburg, all the
dignitaries of the realm, even the Emperor, would pity her, and the end
of her life would be as proud and as renowned as that of the chivalrous
hero who dies victor on the stricken field. If the early part of her life
had been insignificant and wretched, its close should be grand and
beautiful.

Long consideration was foreign to Kuni's nature. While these thoughts
were darting with the speed of lightning through her excited brain, she
stripped from the garland, with the presence of mind which her calling
teaches even in serious peril, the roses which might have caught her
feet, and swung it in a wide circle above her. Then nimbly, yet careful
to maintain in every movement the grace without which the most difficult
feat would have seemed to her valueless, she summoned all the strength
and caution she possessed, went forward at a run, and--she did not know
herself just how it was done--dared the leap over the rope once, twice,
and the third and fourth time even accomplished the turn successfully. It
had not once cost her an effort to maintain her balance.

Again she saw Loni clapping his hands at the window, and the acclamations
of the crowd, which echoed like peals of thunder from the lofty,
gable-roofed houses, informed her that the boldness of the venture and
the skill with which she had performed it were appreciated by these
spectators. True, she could not distinguish the voice of any individual,
but she thought she knew that Lienhard was one of those who shouted
"Bravo!" and clapped most loudly. He must have perceived now that she was
something more than a poor thief of a rosary, a useless bread-eater in
the Schurstab household.

She straightened the garland again and, while preparing to take another
run, repeat the feat, and, if her buoyancy held out, try to whirl around
twice, which she had never failed to accomplish on the low rope, she
could not resist the temptation of casting a hasty glance at Lienhard;
she had never ascended to the steeple without looking at him.

Secure of herself, in the glad conciousness of success, she gazed down.

There sat the illustrious Maximilian, still clapping his hands.
Gratefully, yet with a passionate desire for fresh applause, the resolve
to show him the very best which she could accomplish was strengthened.
But the next moment the blood faded from her slightly rouged cheeks, for
Lienhard--was it possible, was it imaginable?--Lienhard Groland was not
looking up at her! Without moving his hands or vouchsafing her a single
glance, he was gazing into the face of the little wearer of the laurel
wreath, with whom he was eagerly talking. He was under her thrall, body
and soul. Yet it could not be, she could not have seen distinctly. She
must look down once more, to correct the error. She did so, and a
torturing anguish seized her heart. He was chatting with the child as
before; nay, with still more warmth. As he now saw nothing which was
happening upon the rope, he had probably also failed to heed what she had
performed, dared, accomplished, mainly for his sake, at the peril of her
life, on the dizzy height. His wife was still clapping her hands at his
side, but Lienhard, as though deaf and blind to everything else, was
gazing at the page which the miserable little elf was just giving him.
There was certainly writing on it--perhaps a charm which rendered him
subject to her. How else could he have brought himself to overlook so
unkindly herself and her art--the best she had to bestow--for the sake of
this child?

Then, besides the keenest sorrow, a fierce, burning hate took possession
of her soul.

She had not appealed to her saint for years; but now, in a brief,
ejaculatory prayer, she besought her to drive this child from Lienhard,
punish her with misery, suffering, and destruction. A sharp pang which
she had never before experienced pierced her to the heart. The pure,
sunny air which she inhaled on her lofty height seemed like acrid smoke,
and forced tears into the eyes which had not wept for many a long day.

As, not knowing exactly what she was doing, with her ears deafened by the
shouts of the crowd, among whom Lienhard now, with anxious suspense,
watched her every movement, she again raised the rope and prepared to
spring, she fancied that her narrow path rose higher and higher. One more
step, and suddenly, with Loui's shriek of horror and the clown's
terrified "Jesus and Mary, she is falling!" ringing on the air, she felt
as if the rope had parted directly in front of her. Then a hurricane