I was for a moment thunderstruck and speechless. At length fiercely I cried, “Produce my accusers!”
“That is not the mode of proceeding in Constance. I have certain questions to propound to you. When you have answered them, we shall see what is to be done next.”
“Carry me before the prince-bishop of your city! If I am to be examined further, let it be by your sovereign!”
“The prince-bishop, moved by the state of our affairs in matters of religion, has been prevailed on to delegate his juridical authority. I am the person to whom the cognisance of your business belongs; and at certain times, aided by my assessors, have the power of life and death within this city. You have had every indulgence to which you are entitled, and it will be your wisdom to be no further refractory.”
“Propose your questions!”
“A person, apparently greatly advanced in years, arrived in the autumn of last year at a miserable farm you at that time cultivated, called the Cottage of the Lake. It is to him that my questions will principally relate.”
I stood aghast. The words of the magistrate were most unwelcome sounds. I remembered that the stranger had said to me, “When I am once buried, speak of me, and, if possible, think of me no more.” I replied with eagerness and alarm—
“Of that person I have nothing to say. Spare your questions: I have no answer to return you!”
“What was his name?”
“I know not.”