Quoth Ulrich: “When the house is afire the house-father brings out the house-mother no less than himself!—But that does not mean that she then goes about to set up for herself!”
“Women are women, but Thekla has lived beside a thinker of long and bold thoughts. Thekla cannot help herself!” Conrad Devilson lifted one of her long, brown tresses. “Remain fair, Thekla, and all women! Pick up in your apron the windfalls, and welcome! But we own and shake the tree.”
Ulrich and Albrecht, Conrad Devilson and Walther von Langen struck hand on hand or feet against the ground. “So it is!” they cried. “So it is!”
Thekla drew the tress of hair from Conrad Devilson’s hand. She stood with eyelids drooped, her lips curved in a slight smile.
The old man who seemed to make the clasp of the ring shook his head and sighed. “This matter of Owning is a long story, and events are yet to come.... I should like to see Albrecht Dürer try his hand on that.... Thekla, give me wine.”
Thekla left his side, then returned with a wheaten wafer and a cup of wine. The old man ate and drank. She mended the fire for him, took away the cup and plate, and, returning, seated herself upon a cushion on the floor by his side. “Martin Luther has burned the Pope’s bull. Now will the Pope bid the Emperor to put him under ban. Maybe he will be slain as a heretic, and all persecuted who look to freedom. Maybe he will find friends in high places, and the Emperor will check the Pope. Maybe, with naught to aid but stronger light, he must fight both Emperor and Pope. Maybe, aroused, the people will go with him. Maybe all will see light—all—all!”
Eberhard, who had been silent before now, spoke. “If but many see, then will the wheel go toward the light.... I do not think it is more than twilight.... And, maiden, I believe not that man owns the tree, nor at any time has been wholly the shaker thereof!”
Thekla turned and looked at him. “I sinned and you sinned, and yet will we sin.... But now we know what either wishes, and lo, it is one wish, and wished by one Self!”
Said Conrad Devilson, “What do you two speak about, there by yourselves?”
He and Albrecht and Ulrich and Walther von Langen had risen from settle and stool. “We must fare back to the Golden Eagle! Heinrich and Karl and Johann come in to Hauptberg to-night.... Ah ho! Martin Luther has burned the Pope’s bull!”