Dame Hadwig had meanwhile performed her devotions at the grave of the holy Gallus. The Abbot was then about to propose a walk in the cloister-garden, but she asked him, first to show her the treasures of the church. The mind of woman, however intellectual, ever delights in ornaments, jewels and fine garments. The Abbot tried hard to dissuade her from this wish; saying that their's was but a poor little monastery, and that his cousin, no doubt, had seen far better things on her travels, or at court, but it was all in vain. So they went to the sacristy. Here the cupboards were first opened, revealing many purple chasubles and magnificent priest's garments, with embroidered pictures, representations of the holy history. Here and there was also some piece strongly reminding one of Roman heathenism, such as the marriage of Mercury with Philology. When the cupboards were done with, large boxes were opened, full of silver lamps, golden crowns, finely wrought frames for the holy books; and ornaments for the altar. These things had mostly been brought over the Alps by monks, who tying them round their knees, had thus slily preserved them from covetous eyes and hands. Beautiful vessels, in all sorts of curious forms; candlesticks in the shape of dolphins; golden drinking-cups resting on silver pillars; censers and many other beautiful articles, altogether a rich treasure. A chalice made of a single piece of amber, which glistened wonderfully when held to the light, attracted the Duchess' notice. At the edge a small piece was broken off. "When my predecessor Hartmuth was dying," said the Abbot, "that little bit was powdered and given to him, mixed with wine and honey, to calm the fever." In the middle of the amber was a tiny fly, so well preserved, as if it had but just settled down there. Probably the little insect sitting contentedly on its blade of grass, in antediluvian times, when the liquid resin streamed over it, little thought, that it would thus be bequeathed to far-off generations. But such dumb testimonials of nature's powers, were little heeded then. At least the chamberlain Spazzo, who surveyed and examined everything with a careful eye, was occupied the while with very different ideas. He thought how much pleasanter it would be to be on war-terms with the pious monks, and instead of claiming their hospitality as a friend, to enter arms in hand, and carry all the treasures away. Having witnessed in his time many a reverse of friendship between the high-born, he was inwardly speculating on this possibility, and eyeing keenly the entrance to the sacristy, he murmured to himself: "Coming from the choir 'tis the first door to the right!"