“Well,” I rejoined, “that being the case, worthy Dr. Carlstadt, what can I do for you?” “Do? Your Nobility can do everything. You are a man of learning. You are acquainted with Rome. You understand the sensitiveness of the Papal Court to all innuendoes. Go to Dr. Luther; remonstrate. Point out it is useless to dip one’s fingers in Roman ink. Urge him to let Tetzel bray himself silent. Your influence as an experienced man of affairs will be great. Were I not the friend of this truly pious and learned young friar, I would not urge this; but ’tis a mighty grief to see a man who could even hope for a bishopric throw away all chance of promotion by a few Latin theses rashly published.” I demurred at first, raising various objections. But the Fraiherr reënforced Carlstadt’s petition. “He is indeed a pious and eloquent young friar, with a notable career before him. We have none too many such in these days. He must not be blighted by the Dominican’s claws so early. Besides, he may breed great scandal for the University. Go to him, then, in heaven’s name, and talk him out of it.” Thus it befell that, after more protesting, I consented. * * * * * It had been agreed I could accomplish most if I went upon my mission alone. The lackeys of the Freiherr lighted me down the long miry street to the Augustinian convent, which, by night, I could only see was a tall, massive building near the eastern gate. A knocking brought a young lay-brother to the door, who turned out to be Dr. Luther’s famulus.[4] On explaining my business I was escorted up a dark, winding staircase into a large study, and left alone while the fellow went to hunt up his professor. Two candles on a broad oaken table in one corner shed a fitful light over the wide apartment. I saw a tall, green-tiled stove in the opposite corner. The floor was uncarpeted. On one wall hung a well-carved wooden crucifix, but I missed the display of crosses and saints’ pictures I had expected in the room of such a friar. Two or three solid, uncushioned chairs were by the table; beside the brass candlesticks was a battered pewter mug and also a number of books, the bindings worn and thumbed. I noted particularly a Plautus and a Vergil--favorite authors clearly; a copy of Erasmus’s new edition of the Greek Testament, and a Vulgate open at the 118th psalm,[5] also the _Postilla_, a learned commentary upon the Bible by De Lyra. Here was the room of no snoring monkish idler, manifestly; and as surely, one could say, that of no cultured churchly sybarite. Interested by the whole aspect and atmosphere, I was bending farther over the books when I heard a firm step. “Welcome, my Lord Graf,” a voice was saying heartily. The man I sought had entered.