“But,” cried he, striking the table with his fist, and looking at the Anabaptist with glaring eyes—“but ‘there is nothing hidden which may not be discovered, nothing secret which may not be found out; for that which you have said in the darkness shall be published in the light, and that which you have whispered in chambers shall be proclaimed from the housetop!’ I say to you, then, Pelsly, hypocrite that you are!—‘You can discern the face of the sky and of the earth; but how is it that you do not discern this time? And why even of yourself judge you not what is right?’”
Coucou Peter had hardly finished speaking these words when a great tumult was heard within the house, and everybody looked at one another, asking—
“What is the matter?—what is the meaning of all this noise?”
Now it was old Margredel, the paralytic wife of Nikel Schouler the weaver, who, having been told of the miracles performed by the illustrious philosopher, had come to be cured. The poor woman, seated in her large arm-chair, which she had not quitted for two years, was carried on the shoulders of four pilgrims. A crowd pressed about her, crying—
“Courage, Margredel! Courage!”
Margredel smiled sadly, for she believed in the prophet, and already felt life stirring within her.
On arriving in front of the Three Roses, Mother Jacob, who had seen her coming, opened the outer folding-doors—then that of the great dining-room.
Poor Margredel, such as her malady had made her, was then seen, pale, emaciated, raising her thin hands supplicatingly, and crying—
“Save me, Mr. Prophet!—deign to cast a look upon your humble servant!”