About a year after his removal he had occasion to speak to the file-cutter, and sought him at the Lamb, where a number of Count Frolinger’s retainers were sitting. Adam took no notice of them, but they began to jeer and mock at him. For a time he succeeded in controlling himself, but when red-haired Valentine went too far, a sudden fit of rage overpowered him and he felled him to the floor. The others now attacked him and dragged him to their master’s castle, where he lay imprisoned for six months. At last he was brought before the count, who restored him to liberty “for the sake of Florette’s beautiful eyes.” Years had passed since then, during which Adam had lived a quiet, industrious life in the Richtberg with his son. He associated with no one, except Doctor Costa, in whom he found the first and only real friend fate had ever bestowed upon him. CHAPTER III. Father Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return from imprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery. As the monk in his youth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite of his ecclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy monastery, and had formerly come to the smithy in the market-place with many a horse, but since the monks had become involved in a quarrel with the city, Benedict ordered the animals to be shod elsewhere. A difficult case reminded him of the skilful, half-forgotten artisan; and when the latter came out of the shed with a sack of coal, Benedict greeted him with sincere warmth. Adam, too, showed that he was glad to see the unexpected visitor, and placed his skill at the disposal of the monastery. “It has grown late, Adam,” said the monk, loosening the belt he was accustomed to wear when riding, which had become damp. “The storm overtook us on the way. The rolling and flashing overhead made the sorrel horse almost tear Gotz’s hands off the wrists. Three steps sideways and one forward--so it has grown late, and you can’t shoe the rascal in the dark.” “Do you mean the sorrel horse?” asked Adam, in a deep, musical voice, thrusting a blazing pine torch into the iron ring on the forge. “Yes, Master Adam. He won’t bear shoeing, yet he’s very valuable. We have nothing to equal him. None of us can control him, but you formerly zounds!... you haven’t grown younger in the last few years either, Adam! Put on your cap; you’ve lost your hair. Your forehead reaches down to your neck, but your vigor has remained. Do you remember how you cleft the anvil at Rodebach?” “Let that pass,” replied Adam--not angrily, but firmly. “I’ll shoe the horse early to-morrow; it’s too late to-day.” “I thought so!” cried the other, clasping his hands excitedly. “You know how we stand towards the citizens on account of the tolls on the bridges. I’d rather lie on thorns than enter the miserable hole. The stable down below is large enough! Haven’t you a heap of straw for a poor brother in Christ? I need nothing more; I’ve brought food with me.”