"Yes, yes, there is one, and he is a strong man; only he does not know it now. And do you know what his name is? Landolin of Reutershoefen. You alone can help yourself, and then you will have no one else to thank." "Yes; but how?" "Take a drink first, and give me one, and then listen." CHAPTER LIX. "Landolin," began the judge's wife anew, "if we could rely upon it that people would lay penance upon themselves, and do good where they had done evil, or when a bad accident had happened to them--if we knew that surely, we should need no courts and no punishment in the world. Landolin, there is a way in which you can free yourself and your whole house from unhappiness." "Does this look like an unhappy house?" "It does not look so, but it is so, Landolin. Outside, there sits a poor woman, whose only son is dead. In field and forest this woman has only the one little spot of earth in which her son rests, where grows----" "The woman is nothing to me." "Your mouth only says that; the soul within you speaks quite differently. If you had been found guilty you would have had to support this desolate widow." She was startled when she was suddenly interrupted by a laugh from Landolin. To be sure, it was a forced one, but a laugh nevertheless. She looked at him inquiringly, and he cried: "I see you understand all about law." "We are not talking of law. The poor woman has no legal claim. What you do you will do voluntarily, and it is that that is beautiful. Landolin, you will give the money that I desire; but that is not enough for me: you must also give the right thoughts with it." "I have no money, and no right thoughts." "Yes, you have; you have both. You will have them, and the more you give the more you will have. I vouch for you, you will yet make the poor woman's days happy and peaceful." "Oho!" cried Landolin, "so that the world shall say, 'He feels, after all, that he is guilty, and is trying to cover it over with generosity.'" "What difference does what the world says make to you?" A violent struggle must have taken place in Landolin's soul, and it showed itself in his manner. He walked restlessly up and down the room. He clenched his hands; he opened them again. At length he stood still before the judge's wife and said: "Madam, even should you succeed with me, seven angels could not tear a wicked woman from her wickedness. 'Tis easier to drag a fox from his hole with the bare hand. Perhaps you do not know that Cushion-Kate has always had a hardened disposition. Perhaps she cannot help it. Her mother stood at the church door with a straw wreath on her head before Cushion-Kate was born. No, Madam Pfann, with me--you have seen--I let myself be persuaded; but who knows----" "Just leave that to me. Oh, dear Landolin, you'll make my life more happy if you'll obey me; and every morsel you eat, every moment you sleep, will be doubly blessed to you. Come now with me to Cushion-Kate."