But despite the imperial banner boldly fluttered before us by Deutschland, despite sundry injunctions by the men-at-arms, and even thrustings with their pike staves, so dense was the multitude that we won a tardy progress; until at last Pappenheim, loath to keep the Diet waiting, flung dignity to the winds, and turning us down a side alley brought us by back ways to the privy gate in the garden wall of the bishop’s palace, and so at last into the vast rambling structure itself, and to the hall of audience. Even within the palace every doorway, corridor, and overlooking gallery was packed. Spaniards, Italians, French, Flemings, all were there to stare at “_le grand heretique_,” as many whispered in our hearing, though once or twice I caught a friendly word cast in some tongue quite other than German. I saw not a few serving-men in the livery of the Forlis, and once I believed I caught the serpent-like eyes of Orosi peering out of a dark passageway, though of this I could not be certain. Onward we went, until our way was blocked by the guarded doors of the hall of the Diet; and while Pappenheim went before to announce our coming, and we stood waiting in tense expectancy, something occurred which heartened me at least not a little. For, from his post as guards-captain at the entrance, came Georg von Frundsberg, hardest-handed and most famous of the Kaiser’s Lanzknecht generals, a man of more battles than he had surviving hairs, and he smote his great fist on Dr. Luther’s shoulder, then spoke with the voice of a bull. “Little monk, little monk, now go your way, to take a stand which neither I, nor any other commander in our sharpest battles, have taken; yet if you be of good intent, and certain of your business, go on in God’s name and be comforted. Never will God forsake you!” Ere my master could answer him, Pappenheim was whispering “Enter.” We passed inside before the Diet. * * * * *