The count had learned all that he wished to learn; he was satisfied; he was now eager to dismiss Musdœmon. “Musdœmon,” said he, with a gracious smile, “you are the most faithful and most zealous of all my servants. All goes well, and I owe it to your devotion. I make you private secretary to the chancellor’s office.” Musdœmon bowed low. “Nor is that all,” added the count; “I will ask for you, for the third time, the Order of the Dannebrog. But I still fear that your birth, your humble relations--” Musdœmon blushed, turned pale, and hid his change of color by another bow. “Come,” said the count, offering him his hand to kiss, “come, Mr. Private Secretary, draw up your _placeat_! It may chance to find the king in gracious mood.” “Whether his Majesty grant my petition or not, your Grace’s kindness overwhelms me.” “Make haste, my dear fellow, for I am anxious to be off. We must try to get some exact information about this Hans.” Musdœmon, with a third bow, opened the door. “Ah!” said the count, “I forgot. In your new position as private secretary, you may write to the chancellor’s office and order them to dismiss this mayor of Loevig, who compromises the dignity of his position in the eyes of the villagers by his servility to strangers whom he does not know.” XIV. The monk at midnight visiting the cross, The knight taming his fiery steed, The man who with dread sound of trumpet dies, And he who dies with peaceful voice of prayer, Are all the objects of Thy care, lavished alike On every pious soul, whether he tonsure wear or helm. _Hymn to Saint Anselm._ “Yes, master, we really owe a pilgrimage to Lynrass grotto. Who would have thought that the hermit, whom I cursed as if he had been the Devil, would prove to be our guardian angel, and that the sword which seemed to threaten our very lives would serve for a bridge to take us over the abyss?” It was in these somewhat grotesquely figurative terms that Benignus Spiagudry poured into Ordener’s ears his joy, his admiration, and his gratitude for the mysterious monk. As will readily be supposed, our two travellers had left the Cursed Tower; nay, when we again encounter them, they have even left the village of Vygla far behind them, and are painfully pursuing a steep path, interrupted by frequent pools or blocked by huge stones, which transient torrents caused by storms had washed down from the wet, sticky soil. Day had not yet dawned; but the bushes growing above the rocks on either side of the road stood out against the clear sky like dark silhouettes, and various objects, although still colorless, gradually assumed form in the dim, dull light which daybreak in the North filters through the chill fogs of early morning.