The next morning Konrad awakened in the Castle Haltenberg after a sound sleep. It was already nine o'clock, and the August sun was shining in upon his pillow. As soon as he could recollect where he was and how he came to be there, he sprang out of bed in high spirits. It was too comically absurd to think how the Baron had carried him off, together with all his belongings, in order to make himself absolutely certain of having his pictures on the appointed day.

He began dressing hastily, stopping, however, between nearly every article of clothing to examine with curiosity some part of the room or furniture. He had taken but little notice of his surroundings the night before, and his eager, impulsive temperament unfitted him for any methodical occupation, even that of dressing. He hastened to the window in his stocking feet, to have a look at the landscape. A high wall shamefully near cut off the horizon. Behind that, however, there was a glimpse of a distant mountain top covered with trees. That must be climbed in a day or two! But, in the first place, he would become acquainted with the Baron and his family. He would like to be on an intimate footing with him, especially with the ladies; for, in all probability, there is a daughter, young and beautiful, whom the father keeps jealously secluded in this great, mediæval castle. If getting to be established, indoors and out, should take a couple of weeks, he could well afford the time. St. Leonard's Day not coming until November, there would still be two

Translated for The Living Age by Florence

Este.

good months left for the bothersome painting.

In the midst of these rose-colored day-dreams Konrad had nearly completed his toilette. He drew on his jerkin and went into the adjoining hall, which was evidently to be his future studio.

But what a wonderful looking place this great room was! An enormous stove, with wide overhanging chimney, stood against the wall; near it a smaller, peculiarly shaped oven, crowded with crucibles, pots and pans. There were dozens of earthen jars, a table piled up with bottles, and curlously shaped pottery all cracked and broken, and covered with dust an inch thick.

His own artistic belongings had been laid down in the midst of this bewildering confusion. At a loss to understand this singular collection, he was drawing on his shoes, meaning to have a look at the room beyond, when the Baron entered, followed by the old gate-keeper, carrying a tray loaded with a generous breakfast.

They wished each other a courteous good morning, and Konrad hastened to thank his host for establishing him in such picturesque quarters. This fanlastic apartment just suited the taste of an artist! Quentin Matsys himself could hardly have desired more original decorations. He was strongly tempted to make a picture of it at once as an ideal workshop of the olden time. But would his gracious host kindly tell him what this great fireplace and all its peculiar utensils really meant?

Grim and slowly answered the Baron von Haltenberg; "My father had this

hall built and fitted up for the use of an old alchemist, to whom he gave large sums of money upon the solemnly sworn oath that every gulden of it should be returned to him a hundredfold in solid pieces of gold. Said pieces to be obtained by certain mysterious, infallible experiments to be undertaken immediately, but in profound secrecy. The skilful and erudite alchemist. however, disappeared soon after with the entire sum, leaving nothing behind him but this mass of rubbish and a pile of charred papers. Thereupon my father had all the windows strongly barred with iron, as you see; the doors fitted with heavy locks and bolts-examine them yourself-and cross bars placed in the up to the very top-bend your head a little and count them; escape by the roof in that way is quite out of the question.

chimney

My father

hoped to get the lying money-coiner back again, or perhaps a better man in his place, and then all chance of running away from what he had undertaken would have been beyond his power. As it happened, the rascally alchemist never did return, owing to his having been hanged, meanwhile, in Esslingen. But my foreseeing father did not take all these precautions in vain. For now, you are here, and here you are to stay, safely under lock and key, until The Fourteen Helpers in Time of Trouble are duly finished, according to agreement. Until that time you will not see me again, nor any other person, excepting my faithful gate-keeper here, who will be your turnkey and attendant. His face will not disturb you, for you have already painted it. Good morning, young man, and I wish you good appetite for your breakfast."

In vain Konrad shrieked after him, first through the key-hole and then from the windows:

"Open the door, open it this very minute; I will not submit to this outrage.

I am an honorable resident of the Imperial City; my townspeople will set me free and avenge this insult. I am a member of the Artists' Guild; my comrades will appeal to the Emperor."

All in vain; no one heard him, excepting a family of sparrows in the garden, who flew hastily away, frightened out of their wits.

IV.

Konrad's first, emphatic resolution was, that he would never touch a paint-brush again, never, not even should he live to be as old as Methuselah. The next, that he would use all his strength and skill in escaping from this place, or, failing that, in devising means of letting his friends know his unhappy condition, so that they might release him. But every effort and every plan was a failure. The rooms were large and airy, not at all prisonlike, but the bolts and bars were so strongly riveted that the most adroit alchemist (familiar, of course, with all burglarious tricks) could not have broken through them-how much less likely, then, that a poor, innocent artist would succeed.

The gate-keeper brought him delicious repasts and the best of wine, and waited upon him in all things punctiliously. But no attempt at conversation could get a word out of the surly bulldog; and all the time he was in the room an unseen hand held the door firmly closed on the outside.

The apartments were in an out-ofthe-way part of the house (naturally enough, considering for what purpose they had been built). The windows overlooked a small neglected garden, enclosed by the high stone wall, and there was no sign of a living creature to be seen.

After Konrad had done absolutely nothing for eight days (excepting, of course, to rail at the Baron at the

top of his voice, and shake the window bars, one after the other, without moving them a hair's breadth) he tired of the monotony of his life, and longed for a little change and recreation.

Weary even of his solemn determination of giving up painting, he at last looked over his brushes, and, with malicious enjoyment, selecting the very poorest of them, said:

"Well and good. Since the Baron von Haltenberg descends to such contemptible means of forcing me to work, he shall have his work done in the same contemptible manner. He knows well enough how I paint, as a free man. Let me show him what I can do under lock and key."

Notwithstanding his ill-humor, Konrad was soon deeply interested in painting at the top of his speed. Without resting, he dashed in the entire company of the sainted Helpers in a day or two.

They were done after the fashion of gingerbread cookies, and touched up with spots of red and yellow, like lead soldiers in a Christmas box. He was delighted with the ludicrous caricatures when finished, and sent them forthwith to the Baron, with the message that "If he wanted his pictures-there he had them-all fourteen, and would he now, as in honor bound, have the door unlocked and let him go free at once."

But, in a very short time, the gatekeeper brought back the whole collection of saints, with the notification that "If the painter were in need of more turpentine or pumice stone to rub out his work again, a man on horseback should be sent, post haste, to the city for a full supply."

Too angry for words, Konrad set up the pictures in a row before him, and gradually his indignation cooled down by the hearty laugh he had over them. Suddenly they struck him as not so bad, after all. Had he not, without

intending it, made capital burlesques of the prosaic handiwork of one or two well-known and well-patronized court painters? A few characteristic touches here and there were still wanting, and he began putting them in with genuine satisfaction, when a new and startling thought occurred to him. To mock and jeer at the Baron was well enough— he deserved it-but to turn the sacred Helpers themselves into ridicule-was he justified in that? Would any one of the old masters have ventured upon that? At first he had certainly painted the sainted martyrs to the best of his ability, but, should he turn them into derision now, might they not be resentful and have it in their power to punish him? They had freed the Baron von Haltenberg when he was captive in Tunis; what if now they should be angry with him, and keep him locked up here till doomsday?

Contrite and apprehensive, poor Konrad buried his face in his hands, more miserable than ever. "But if he had done amiss, he would certainly atone for it," and, looking up with this new resolve, how perfectly astonished he was! On the other side of the window, just opposite where he was sitting at his easel, hung a little oval mirror, and in that, clear and distinct, he saw the image of his vanished St. Catharine, not the one he had painted and afterwards rubbed out, but the far more beautiful face he had so vainly tried to fix upon canvass- A vision! And did the Saint come to aid, or to reproach him? For a moment the wondering artist really thought he beheld a spiritual apparition. But this lovely face was full of joyous, earthly life, and Konrad was no master of the old school carried away by dreams and visions, so that he quickly collected his wits and went on with his work, keeping, however, a keen watch upon the mirror. And so doing, the mystery was readily solved.

According to the laws of perspective, the original of the vision must be standing behind him outside the window, evidently overlooking his work at the easel.

Already, yesterday, when waking from one of his afternoon naps, he had thought for a moment there was a figure gliding across the garden. But as he had been dreaming of the beautiful unknown, he supposed this fancy was but the continuation of his dream. But he was wide awake now, and what had he better do? In case of imprisonment, the ordinary rules of polite intercourse with ladies must sometimes be set aside.

He sprang up suddenly from his seat, and hastily grasped a small hand which rested on the window-sill, and held its owner fast. Terribly frightened, she suppressed the first impulse to scream, but struggled hard to be free. The painter, however, had already secured the other hand, and held both firmly .clasped in his. The young woman knew that she was on forbidden ground, and that her safety depended upon her not being discovered, so she dared not call for help.

Konrad, however, with the greatest courtesy and friendliness, said:

"Pardon me, noble lady, but I cannot let you go until I have the pleasure of talking with you a little. For weeks and weeks I have not spoken to a soul, nor heard the sound of a human voice. And now that I have the chance of doing so I must avail myself of it. I long to hear the music of a woman's voice, and especially yours."

But the maiden could not cease lamenting the curiosity which had brought her into this trouble. She had heard a rumor that there was another money-coiner shut up here, and she was dying to see for herself how he was going to make the gold. She knew she had done wrong; her father Lad strictly forbidden any one's coming

into the garden, and-oh, would he not please let her go. She saw well enough that he was no money-coiner, only the friendly house and sign painter, who had lately shown them the way to St. Catharine's convent.

At the word "house and sign painter" Konrad was so indignantly surprised that he let go one of her hands, taking care, however, to hold the other all the tighter.

"I am no common workman,” he exclaimed, throwing his head up proudly, "I am an artist-pupil of the great Christopher Amberger, who was himself pupil of the world-famous Hans Holbein, so that my art comes down, in line direct, and but twice removed, from the greatest of Dutch masters."

"But methinks the grandchildren do not always strikingly resemble the grandparents," said the maiden, pointing with her disengaged hand to the ludicrous figures on the easel. He glanced angrily around at the pictures, and, pushing his foot against the easel, sent them all tumbling on the floor, where they lay, mostly face downwards.

"You mistake me, mistake me entirely," he cried, indignantly, "only out of revenge and anger have I painted such miserable things as these. Only because I have been shamefully put here in prison and made to work, whether I wish to or not. The proprietor of this castle has in his possession very different things of mine. Go look at them, gracious lady; they will show you whether I be a mere house and sign painter. And tell me, do you suppose it would be worth the Baron's while to keep me in this imprisonment if I could paint only such worthless things as those lying on the floor there?"

The maiden was fully convinced of his truthfulness, but he did not wait for her answer. It was so long since he had talked at all, that no moment