He awkwardly stammered some jesting reply. In reality it seemed to him that neither worldlings nor saints could escape this fascinating woman, if she wished to cast her nets about them. As he beheld her slender figure gliding through the shadowy passages, her face now and then lighted by a gleam of sunshine, his heart throbbed with a strange excitement, which he attributed to artistic feeling. But it estranged and mortified him that she did not once refer to yesterday's plan of the Sicilian trip. And notwithstanding all yesterday's resolutions, in spirit he already saw himself climbing the steps of the ampitheatre at Taormina by her side, and heard her express her delight in terms very different from those of to-day over an old watchtower or postern-gate. Once more she leaned upon his arm, and they returned to the town. Then he led her directly to the old Church of St. James, the town's only cathedral. However, she regarded the beautiful Gothic structure with much less interest than he had expected, and was coldly indifferent to the three famous altars with their admirable carving. But she looked long at the glass case wherein the holy blood is kept, and crossed herself. He thought to impress her by telling her that Heinrich Toppler set up the high altar and collected the pictures by Michael Wohlgemuth, and by showing her the great burgomaster's arms with the two dice; but, stifling a little yawn, she requested to go into the streets again. There her interest was reawakened by the black stain on the arch of the gateway, beneath which a street passes through the church. A peasant, he told her, having cursed as he was driving his team through the place, was seized by the devil and flung high against the arch; the body fell down, but the poor soul stuck fast. At this she laughed heartily. "You are foolish antiquaries, you gentlemen of Rothenburg!" she cried, "and now let me see your town-hall, and then enough for to-day." "Do you know," she said, as they were retracing the short way to the market-place, "that it really seems to me as if this German Pompeii were inhabited by nothing but good people, whose truth and honesty, having been covered up like the old stones for several hundred years, has now come to light again? As yet I have not seen one evil face. They all greet each other; it is like a large, well-bred family, wherein each one behaves politely because he is observed by all the others. You, too, once out in the world would seem more merry and enterprising. Now you have the same pious look. You must not take offence if I am often a trifle critical."