‘I nodded wearily. Diener, however, seemed in some perplexity.
‘“It is not so easy,” he returned, “to find the gentleman a shelter. As you all know, the village is overcrowded with strangers. However, if he will follow ml I will take him to Joseph Mair, and see what can be done.”
‘I thanked him, and without staying to alter his dress, he led the way to the door.
‘We were soon out in the open street. Passing several chalets, Diener at last reached one standing a little way from the roadside, and knocked.
‘“Come in,” cried a clear kind voice.
‘He opened the door and I followed him into an interior much resembling the one we had just quitted, but smaller, and more full of tokens of the woodcutter’s trade. The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp swinging from the ceiling. Seated close to the fireplace, with his back towards us, engaged in some handy work, was a man.
‘As we entered the man rose and stood looking towards us. I started in wonder, and uttered an involuntary cry.
‘It was Jesus Christ, Jesus the son of Joseph, in his habit as he lived!
‘I had no time, and indeed I lacked the power, to separate the true from the false in this singular manifestation. I saw before me, scarce believing what I saw, the Christ of History, clad as the shape is clad in the famous fresco of Leonardo, but looking at me with a face mobile, gentle, beautiful, benign. At the same moment I perceived, scarcely understanding its significance, the very crown of thorns, of which so many a martyr since has dreamed. It was lying on the coarse table close to a number of wood-carving tools, and close to it was a plate of some red pigment, with which it had recently been stained.
‘Johann Diener advanced.