"Has she not tried to sow among you the seeds of her sinful doctrines? has she not, like the serpent of Eden, hissed into the ear of the sufferers to whose bedside she was admitted dreadful doubts, instead of pouring into them the balm of divine consolation?" "Yes, yes,--she always spoke disrespectfully of our pastors and their office." The clerical gentlemen looked mournfully at each other. "She has tried to stir up rebellion against the Church!" cried the priest. "She even turned me ignominiously from the doors when I went, in all the dignity of my office, to administer extreme unction to her servant Kunigunda, and she pretended in excuse that the maid was not going to die, and the ceremony would excite her and make her worse. She could not bear the sight of the Crucified beneath her roof. She is an outcast from God and His Church. Centuries ago, such as she were burnt alive; there was good reason for it. But we all suffer, and must continue to suffer, from their presence among us. The devil has put on the cloak of philanthropy, beneath which he hides all such sinners, so that we cannot touch them." "She is a poisonous sore in our flesh," added the Protestant pastor, "and it stands written, 'If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out;' but we dare not cut out this sore that offends us." "Why not?--what is to hinder us?" shouted the excited peasants. "Then you really believe that she has done this mischief to our poor child?" said Keller with horror. "Well, if we cannot exactly believe that," replied the Protestant pastor, "we must confess that we see in the accident a sign from Providence that we should avoid her. This much is certain, that the stranger who drove over the child had been visiting the Hartwich, so that, if she had not dwelt among us, the accident would most assuredly never have occurred, for that furious woman would never have come here." "The Hartwich is to blame for it all!" growled the drunken throng. "She is, in one way or another," continued the expositor of Christian love. "I repeat, with my respected brother, every misfortune among us is her work." "Yes, every misfortune is the work of the Hartwich!" yelled the chorus. "Gracious heavens! See! look there!" cried one, pointing to the windows. All looked out. "'Tis the Hartwich herself!" "Does she dare to come down here?" "She wants to see the misery she has caused!" "Holy Mother!" cried Keller, "she is going to my house!" And he rushed out. Like fermenting wine from a cask when the stopper is removed, the whole drunken throng rushed after him into the street. Priest and pastor remained behind, looking at one another. "What shall we do?" asked one. "Ought we not to follow them, to prevent mischief?"