“Ay, it was then that something awoke me,” said the alchemist.
“Yes, the worse for us all,” said Tring sourly. “It was a cry that brought you to your senses, upon the eve of so great a revelation. It was the cry of your niece from the room below.”
“Elzbietka,” exclaimed the alchemist with concern. “And why did she cry?”
“You were not silent in your trance. You shouted that there were some demons near by ready to kill you—you almost screamed in your fear—and then you talked as if your tongue were a pendulum.”
“And I did not answer the child?”
“No. You sank back in your chair again, asleep, and this time it was a natural sleep, for when I questioned you again, you said nothing.”
The alchemist rubbed his eyes. “I am sleepy now, in faith.” Then, wondering, “What could have been the revelation? I know of no prize that could be near by. On the ground floor is the old woman and her half-wit son whom I frighten with fire—then on the second floor but the three poor refugees installed recently. Across the court, only you and two poor students. No, it can be nothing in the possession of any one of these. Well, as you say, this for to-night is enough—” And at these words Joseph scampered down the stairway.
CHAPTER VIII
PETER OF THE BUTTON FACE
Summer burned itself into fall. The Vistula which had been growing ever lower and lower with the heat was now but a narrow ribbon of water and the banks along it were parched and dried and yellow. Leaves were changing from green to brown and the birds were making ready to leave for southern lands as soon as the first suggestion of cold should appear. Across the meadows now the horses and wagons were marching daily and the dry hay was filling barn and shelter in all the country about. The fruits of the autumn were already appearing in the market, the apples of the first bearing, the golden squashes, and the late cabbage. And over the city and country hung a sky of deep, exquisite blue, for in all the world there is no sky so blue as is the Krakow sky, and no sun is so golden as is the sun of early autumn.
When the Month of the Heather had passed by and the Month of Hemp Beating was at hand, Joseph had learned all the notes of the Heynal and could play the little hymn upon his father’s trumpet. Once even he had played it in the tower; on that night his father had played it toward the west, south, and east, and then had allowed the boy to play it at the north window. The girl, Elzbietka, a little quicker of ear than Joseph, had long since mastered the air and quickly memorized Joseph’s notes, so that she could not only hum the music, but reproduce it in writing upon a wall or piece of parchment.