"We are in the way here," said Felix to his brother, who apparently undisturbed by the conversation at the other side of the table, fixed his eyes on his brother's face, but none the less had kept his ears open to what had been said by the Parsons.
"Let them leave first," replied Paul in the Italian language, "it looks less remarkable." In fact the four parsons rose at the same moment and left the room in a noisy manner, without honoring the brothers with a bow.
"German politeness," laughed Paul.
"They are beasts," said the artist, "Could I but saw away the façade of the new building and send it off to Florence, I should consider it a good action;" washing down by a last swallow of water the bad impression made on him, he took his brother's arm and went out on the Market place, where the dark massive Church opposite stood out boldly in the quiet square now resplendent with the light of a clear moon. Felix made his way towards the Schloss, Paul towards the bridge. The young Priest saw naught of the metallic gleam of the moonlit river, naught of the mist, which rolled in fairylike play around the valley, he was full of the blasphemies, which he had heard, of the plans of the wicked Priests, who wished to swell the army of those who deny the holy Trinity. It seemed to him not improbable, that all the influential and important men, who that day had gathered round the table, were secret allies of the Arians, But with one blow would he destroy this nest of Satan, this was his inward vow, and if he had known but one sentiment of mercy, when the cause of God was in question, it would not have availed in this case, opposed to the thirst for revenge of the Neapolitan, who had apparently treated the vulgar insults of these coarse men with contempt, whilst in reality his heart was fired with the desire, to pay them back in his own peculiar coin. Sylvan especially, that handsome man vain as a peacock, was the principal object of his wrath, a man who had been granted the highest honors of the Catholic Church, and who to-day openly admitted the fundamental principle of all gregarious animals, ever to hasten thither where the best pasturage was to be found. As soon as Paul had reached his room, he drew up in a secret cypher a full report of what he had heard on this memorable evening. "Up to the present," thought Paul dipping his pen, "I have only slain small foxes and wild boars, who were desolating the vineyard of the Lord, to-day has a spotted royal stag, who breaks through the forest with spreading antlers, received an arrow in his heart." With a feeling of triumph did he lie down, to be in readiness to forward his letters the first thing in the morning from the town to Speyer.
CHAPTER IX.
The sun was setting and still Felix remained on the topmost boards of his scaffolding, to examine the cornice and the cracks in the walls which appeared to require filling up. At the midday meal he had heard that Erast's daughter had returned home, and who knows whether this news had not brought back to his memory the most perilous portion of his undertaking. At all events, whilst he was examining the pilasters, consoles and figures, the remembrance of the fair maiden at the Stift came back to his recollection more than once. Two hundred feet above ground, standing on a narrow plank, he looked straight in the face of the grave Serapis, then he passed his hand over his eyes, and bethought him that this was not a good place for a reverie, and shaking his head, said: "If I make a false step to-day, and come to the same end as did Phaëton, no one but the fair Klytia is to blame, for whosoever has once seen this maiden's sweet smile, will be haunted by the remembrance of the dimple in her cheeks, even if he ascends as high up as to the planetary Deities. Those old gentlemen have some knowledge of these matters." As he was preparing to come down, he recognised the fair maiden of whom he was thinking, standing in person before him close to the window.
Klytia had in reality returned from the convent to the home of her father, and had curled up her little nose in no small degree when she perceived the scaffolding before her window and the dust in her room. In spite of the sad recollections of that day in the Stift she felt lonely at home. Even the farewell she took of the good Abbess was more painful than she had thought it could be, and her anger against her companions quite disappeared when they wished her good-bye amidst kisses and good-humored jokes. She sat at her high window and gazed through the scaffolding in a dreamy manner at the distant Rhine valley. The Neckar flowed like a silver thread through the plain, whose fields were white for the harvest; in the distance the blue Haardt mountains were to be seen, the blossoming acacias on the slopes of the Jettenbühl filled the air with perfume, and to the right and left the flowering chestnuts dotted as if with a white powder the dark-green woods. Around the Heiligengeist the closely built houses seemed like sheep surrounding their shepherd, and the two towers on the bridge standing on either side of the river seemed hospitably to invite the inhabitants to cross over. It was the same lovely picture which had formerly so delighted her, but now it possessed no longer this charm; her joyous heart had remained behind in the convent, and her entranced glance lingered on the tower of the bridge as if through this gate all her happiness--passed in or out she knew not which. As she now sat at her window over her work, she felt what was lost to her: "If my mother were but still alive," she thought, and a tear dropped from under her eye-lashes. However much she loved her grave father she could not confide her feelings to him. She had been shamefully deceived. The man, whom she had deified as the best on earth, had proved himself to be a wicked angel in the garb of a good shepherd, and the insult which he had offered her, had sorely stricken her maiden heart. What did it avail, that she had bonam conscientiam, as the good Abbess was wont to say, it seemed nevertheless to her as if she had done some wrong in suffering a hypocrite to have so much influence over her, and as she thought of the terrible moment after the evening exercitia in the Chapel, the blood flew to her cheeks, and she bent over her work while indignation and shame struggled within her. Whilst thus deeply wrapped up in thought and painful reminiscences she was startled from her work by seeing the shadow of a man passing close to the window on the scaffolding. She was so accustomed to live here in profound solitude, that she rose up terrified, as at the most did a sparrow fly against the window or a pigeon settle on the coping. The head of the man was above the window so that she could only see up to his shoulders. A man at such a moment would have thought how shall I rouse the house; a woman would have feared lest the poor young man should fall from his narrow plank into the depths beneath. Lydia was still too much of a child for either, and as the first fright passed away, she was filled with curiosity to see the head appertaining to those young feet. A sudden presentiment shot through her mind. It seemed to her as if she saw them wandering over the meadows of the convent and treading upon certain blue flowers. Quickly did she spring up to shut the window; but Master Felice had already recognised her: "Ah! so you are back, noble maiden?" said he cheerily. "I greet you from my airy height."
"You will fall," said Klytia anxiously, "please finish your work, it makes me giddy."
"Oh, here I feel as comfortable as does the ant when swinging on a pine-cone. How fresh the air is! Allow me to sit down." And he leant his back against a beam, nursing one of his knees between his hands, while the other leg swung backward and forward over the scaffold.
"Have you much to do in this dangerous situation?" asked Klytia, who in her terror had almost begged him to get down through her window.