"There goes an arm and a sword that might well shorten a Christian's
days," said the dissolute and shameless dealer in the church's abuses,
"and, yet no one asks his name or calling!"

"Thou hadst better put the question thyself," returned the sneering Pippo,
"since penitence is thy trade. For myself, I am content with whirling
round at my own bidding, without taking a hint from that young giant's
arm."

The poor scholar and the burgher of Berne appeared to acquiesce in this
opinion, and no more said in the matter. In the mean while there was
another at the gate. The new applicant had little in his exterior to renew
the vigilance of the superstitious trio. A quiet, meek-looking man,
seemingly of a middle condition in life, and of an air altogether calm and
unpretending, had submitted his passport to the faithful guardian of the
city. The latter read the document, cast a quick and inquiring glance at
its owner, and returned the paper in a way to show haste, and a desire to
be rid of him.

"It is well," he said; "thou canst, go thy way."

"How now!" cried the Neapolitan, to whom buffoonery was a congenial
employment, as much by natural disposition as by practice; "How now!--have
we Balthazar at last, in this bloody-minded and fierce-looking traveller?"
As the speaker had expected, this sally was rewarded by a general laugh,
and he was accordingly encouraged to proceed. "Thou knowest our office,
friend," added the unfeeling mountebank, "and must show us thy hands. None
pass who bear the stain of blood!"

The traveller appeared staggered, for he was plainly a man of retired and