beautiful! I am positively in love with it. This morning it was but a fancy picture, now it is real. Could anything be more perfect? So peaceful, and quaint, and sweet! Look at those children peeping from behind their mother's gown-she can be no other than their mother-dirty, but how picturesque! – and the woman herself, how original! It is worth while being a woman like that, to stand as she does, with her children clinging to her. Why does Mr. Almer not like to live here? It is inexplicable, quite inexplicable. I could be happy here for ever-yes, for ever! Do you catch the perfume of the limes? It is delicious-delicious! It comes from the grounds; there must be a lime-tree walk there. And you," she said to the pretty girl at the gates, "you are Dionetta."
"Yes, my lady," said Dionetta, and marvelled how her name could have become known to the beautiful woman, whose face was more lovely than the face of the Madonna over the altar of the tiny chapel in which she daily prayed. It was not difficult to divine her thought, for Dionetta was Nature's child.
"You wonder who told me your name," said the Advocate's wife, smiling, and patting the girl's cheek with her gloved hand.
"Yes, my lady."
"It was a little bird, Dionetta."
"A little bird, my lady!" exclaimed Dionetta, her wonderment and admiration growing fast into worship. The lady's graceful figure, her pink and white face, her pearly teeth, her lovely laughing mouth, her eyes, blue as the most beautiful summer's cloud-Dionetta had never seen the like before.
"You," said the Advocate's wife, turning to the grandmother, "are Mother Denise."
"Yes, my lady," said the old woman; "this is my husband, Martin. Come forward, Martin, come forward. He is not as young as he was, my lady."
"I know, I know; my little bird was very communicative. You are Fritz."
"The Fool," said the white-haired young man, approaching closer to the lady, and consequently closer to Dionetta, "Fritz the Fool. But that needn't tell against me, unless you please. I can be useful, if I care to be, and faithful, too, if I care to be."
"It depends upon yourself, then," said the lady, accepting the independent speech in good part, "not upon others."
"Mainly upon myself; but I have springs that can be set in motion, if one can only find out how to play upon them. I was told you were coming."
"Indeed!" with an air of pleasant surprise. "By whom, and when?"
"By whom? The white shadows. When? In my dreams."
"The white shadows! They exist then! Edward, do you hear?"
"It is not so, my lady," interposed Mother Denise, in ill-humour at the turn the conversation was taking; "the shadows do not exist, despite what people say. Fritz is over-fond of fooling."
"It is my trade," retorted Fritz. "I know what I know, grandmother."
"Is Fritz your grandson, then?" asked the Advocate's wife, of Mother Denise.
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mother Denise.
"What is not," remarked Fritz sententiously, "may be. Bear that in mind, grandmother; I may remind you of it one day."
The Advocate, upon whom not a word that had passed had been lost, fixed his eyes upon Fritz, and said:
"A delusion can be turned to profit. You make use of these shadows."
"The saints forbid! They would burn me in brimstone. Yet," with a look both sly and vacant, "it would be a pity to waste them."
"You like to be called a fool. It pleases you."
"Why not?"
"Why, rather?"
"I might answer in your own words, that it can be turned to profit. But I am too great a fool to see in what way."
"You answer wisely. Why do you close your eyes?"
"I can see in the dark what I choose to see. When my eyes are open, I am their slave. When they are closed, they are mine-unless I dream."
The Advocate gazed for a moment or two in silence upon the white face with its closed eyes raised to his, and then said to his wife:
"Come, Adelaide, we will look at the house."
They passed into the grounds, accompanied by Mother Denise, Martin, and Dionetta. Fritz remained outside the gate, with his eyes still closed, and a smile upon his lips.
"Fritz," said the host of the inn of The Seven Liars, "do you know anything of the great man?"
Fritz rubbed his brows softly and opened his eyes.
"Take the advice of a fool, Peter Schelt. Speak low when you speak of him."
"You think he can hear us. Why, he is a hundred yards off by this time!"
Fritz pointed with a waving finger to the air above him.
"There are magnetic lines, neighbours, connecting him with everything he once sets eyes on. He can see without seeing, and hear without hearing."
"You speak in riddles, Fritz."
"Put it down to your own dulness, Peter Schelt, that you cannot understand me. Master Lamont, now-what would you say about him? That he lacks brains?"
"A long way from it. Master Lamont is the cleverest man in the valley."
"Not now," said Fritz, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder in the direction taken by the Advocate; "his master has come. Master Lamont is a great lawyer, but we have now a greater, one who is a more skilful cobbler with his tongue than Hans here is with his awl; he can so patch an old boot as to make it better than a new one, and look as close as you may, you will not see the seams. Listen, Master Schelt. When I stood there with my eyes shut I had a dream of a stranger who was found murdered in your house. An awful dream, Peter. Gather round, neighbours, gather round. There lay the stranger dead on his bed, and over him stood you, Peter Schelt, with a bloody knife in your hand. People say you murdered him for his money, and it really seemed so, for a purse stuffed with gold and notes was found in your possession; you had the stranger's silver watch, too. Suspicious, was it not? It was looking so black against you that you begged the great man who has come among us to plead for you at your trial. You were safe enough, then. He told a rare tale. Forty years ago the stranger robbed your father; suddenly he was struck with remorse, and seeking you out, gave you back the money, and his silver watch in the bargain. He proved to everybody's satisfaction that, though you committed the murder, it was impossible you could be guilty. Don't be alarmed, Madame Schelt, it was only a dream."
"But are you sure I did it?" asked Peter Schelt, in no way disturbed by the bad light in which he was placed by Fritz's fancies.
"What matters? The great man got you off, and that is all you cared for. Look here, neighbours; if any of you have black goats that you wish changed into white, go to him; he can do it for you. Or an old hen that cackles and won't lay, go to him; she will cackle less, and lay you six eggs a day. He is, of all, the greatest."
"Ah," said a neighbour, "and what do you know of his lady wife?"
"What all of you should know, but cannot see, though it stares you in the face."
"Let us have it, Fritz."
"She
