Oh, that was it, was it, that bright red thing? How clear and sharp the color was, like the girl’s skirt in the inn. Margret stood on the tips of her toes and stretched out her hands: “Sacred Coat--My mother--” “Shh--” The strange gentleman drew her down again. “Now, you see, you have seen the Sacred Coat, and it has seen you; it can hear your voice from here. Now, you pray the best you can, and when they begin to sing again in the church, and the bells toll, then your mother will get well.” Margret hid her face in her hands. Oh, she could pray, and she would pray the best she knew how. She prayed until the drops came out on her forehead, all the prayers that she had ever learned, and gave them all as refrain the same line over and over again: “Sacred Coat, O Sacred Coat, make my mother well.” Within the church the great organ toned out again, and the voices floated down, “Ecclesia, missa, est.” Margret rose from her knees with a great and confident joy in her heart. Now her mother would be well again. She knew it. As she looked about her she could see nothing more of the friendly gentleman. The crowd was beginning to disperse. And now she discovered for the first time how very tired and hungry she was. Her knees trembled; the sun burned down hot upon her, and white clouds grew up in the sky, as if portending a thunderstorm. She felt that she must rest a little, but not here in the hot and dusty city. She wanted to be out again, past the gates, amid the green; then she could start on her homeward way refreshed. She walked back unhindered through the streets by which she had come; with her last pennies she bought some bread and fruit. Then she hurried out with her packages over the old bridge to her cozy willow grove beside the Moselle. The noise of the city remained behind her; nothing moved about her here but the breath of the wind in the bushes, and the hum of the little blue flies in the air. Every now and then a fish would spring out of the river and fall back again into the refreshing flood with a little splash. A dreamy silence surrounded the tired girl. There was no sound of the bells, no human voice, nothing but peace and rest. Now she had eaten her bread and fruit, and sat quietly in the shade of the willows, her head sinking gently down upon her arm. She did not know how long she had slept, or even if she had slept at all; a loud laugh aroused her. The two gentlemen who had spoken to her in front of the church stood before her. “Here’s luck,” said one of them. “One doesn’t meet a little fool like this every day. Are you much edified, little one?” “Leave her alone,” said the one who had spoken to her before. “She’s so pretty. Well, my dear child,” he said then, and put his hand under her chin, “you know you owe me thanks. Without me you would not have seen the Sacred Coat, and your mother would not have been made well. What are you going to give me for it?”