We had not deemed it necessary to inform Dr. Luther of our little adventure in the night time, but I communicated enough to Deutschland, the imperial herald, so that he caused two or three reliable men-at-arms to be stationed around the house of the Knights to scrutinize all visitors, and I knew well enough that Emperor Charles, little as he might love heretics, would fight against them as became a lion and not a snake, and would visit condign punishment on any would-be assassins. If Luther had wished any time for deliberation it was well he spent the night at his vigils; he had small peace all that day. His apartments literally swarmed with well-meaning friends. Bucer had ridden over from the Ebernberg with more letters and promises of military succour from Franz von Sickengen. Saxon noblemen flocked to see Luther all the morning long, greeting him with bluff heartiness and proffering much homely cheer. “Herr Doctor,” ran their honest talk, “how are you? People say you are going to be burned. That will never do. That would ruin everything.” And my master, with untroubled brow and a fresh and steady voice (as if he had had a peaceful sleep), answered them in kind; never downcast, never boastful, but wholly cheerful, until, as one visitor said to me when leaving, “You would think he was going to a hair-splitting debate of harmless theologians to-day, and not before the Estates and Emperor.” Only Amsdorf and I, who had heard that prayer flung out into the garden, knew _whence_ came the noble equanimity which set all the rest marvelling. Out in the streets of the city the folk were elbowing and jostling by thousands, and the tall houses had every window lined, man and maid waiting, elbowing, craning to see “Him,” as he went to his great ordeal. As for Amsdorf and myself, with a great effort we gained Dr. Luther enough peace for us to sit down beside him, spread the cloth, and force upon him the leg of a capon and a few tarts, that he might not go before the Diet absolutely faint and fasting. We had expected him to be summoned shortly after noon, but it was after four o’clock when Ulrich von Pappenheim, hereditary marshal of the Empire, and a file of twenty Swiss halberdiers in gorgeous scarlet surcoats, came to escort the distinguished friar before his judges. Dr. Luther needed no tarrying. Drawing his well-worn black habit about him, casting upon the table the papers he had been conning, he arose to go. I could see his lips were a little pale; possibly his steps were short and nervous, otherwise he was perfectly natural. Amsdorf and I each gave him a hand, and he returned the grasp warmly. We had long since passed the time when many words were needed. The halberdiers closed around him as if he were a prisoner. We followed at their heels, and so out into the street.