Little Pauline stood looking seriously at him for a while. “I am sorry for thee, Otto,” said she, at last. And then, at her childish pity, he began crying in earnest.
This was only the first visit of many from the little maid, for after that she often came to Otto’s prison, who began to look for her coming from day to day as the one bright spot in the darkness and the gloom.
Sitting upon the edge of his bed and gazing into his face with wide open eyes, she would listen to him by the hour, as he told her of his life in that far away monastery home; of poor, simple brother John’s wonderful visions, of the good Abbot’s books with their beautiful pictures, and of all the monkish tales and stories of knights and dragons and heroes and emperors of ancient Rome, which brother Emmanuel had taught him to read in the crabbed monkish Latin in which they were written.
One day the little maid sat for a long while silent after he had ended speaking. At last she drew a deep breath. “And are all these things that thou tellest me about the priests in their castle really true?” said she.
“Yes,” said Otto, “all are true.”
“And do they never go out to fight other priests?”
“No,” said Otto, “they know nothing of fighting.”
“So!” said she. And then fell silent in the thought of the wonder of it all, and that there should be men in the world that knew nothing of violence and bloodshed; for in all the eight years of her life she had scarcely been outside of the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen.
At another time it was of Otto’s mother that they were speaking.
“And didst thou never see her, Otto?” said the little girl.