Ulrich raised himself, exclaiming in an eager, defiant tone:

"I won't go back to the monastery; that I will not."

"So that's the way the hare jumps!" cried the fool laughing. "You've
been a bad Latin scholar, and the timber in the forest is dearer to you,
than the wood in the school-room benches. To be sure, they send out no
green shoots. Dear Lord, how his face is burning!" So saying,
Pellicanus laid his hand on the boy's forehead and when he felt that it
was hot, deemed it better to stop his examination for the day, and only
asked his patient his name.

"Ulrich," was the reply.

"And what else?"

"Let me alone!" pleaded the boy, drawing the coverlet over his head
again.

The jester obeyed his wish, and opened the door leading into the tap-
room, for some one had knocked. The artist's servant entered, to fetch
his master's portmanteau. Old Count von Hochburg had invited Moor to be
his guest, and the painter intended to spend the night at the castle.
Pellicanus was to take care of the boy, and if necessary send for the
surgeon again. An hour after, the sick jester lay shivering in his bed,
coughing before sleeping and between naps. Ulrich too could obtain no
slumber.

At first he wept softly, for he now clearly realized, for the first time,