"You want to learn what I have to do with Herr Groland? It was about six
years ago, in front of St. Sebald's church, in Nuremberg. A wedding was
to take place. The bridegroom was one of the Council--Lienhard Groland.
The marriage was to be a very quiet one--the bridegroom's father lay
seriously ill. Yet there could have been no greater throng at the
Emperor's nuptials. I stood in the midst of the crowd. A rosary dropped
from the belt of the fat wife of a master workman--she was decked out
like a peacock--and fell just in front of me. It was a costly ornament,
pure gold and Bohemian garnets. I did not let it lie there."

"A miracle!" chuckled Cyriax, but the girl was obliged to conquer a
severe attack of coughing before she could go on with her story.

"The chaplet fairly burned my hand. I would gladly have given it back,
but the woman was no longer before me. Perhaps I might have returned it,
but I won't say so positively. However, there was no time to do it; the
wedding party was coming, and on that account But what is the use of
talking? While I was still gazing, the owner discovered her loss. An
officer seized me, and so I was taken to prison and the next day was
brought before the magistrates. Herr Groland was one of them, and, since
it wasn't certain that I would not have restored the property I found, he
interceded in my behalf. When the others still wished to punish me, he
besought my release because it was my first offence. So we met, and when
I admit that I am grateful to him for it, you know all."

"H'm," replied Cyriax, giggling, as he nudged his wife in the side and
made remarks concerning what he had just heard which induced even
red-haired Gitta to declare that the loss of his tongue was scarcely a
misfortune.