Only four ducats are mine; the rest...!" He fell to dreaming, poor old soul, and caressing some of the coins in his hands, and forgot where he was, sitting there on his heels with his old gray head bare; it was pitiful to see.

"No," he said, waking up, "it isn't mine.

I can't account for it.

I think some enemy...

it must be a trap." Nikolaus said: "Father Peter, with the exception of the astrologer you haven't a real enemy in the village--nor Marget, either.