“More things than one, but chiefly chided me about my studies. Asked me if I had learned yet how to make gold out of iron or brass or leather and said that he would collect old shoes all over the city if I would transmute them into precious metal.” “And this upon no provocation?” The young man hesitated, yet there was something compelling about Jan Kanty that caused men to speak the truth to him. “I did ask him if the frogs in the North country spoke Mazovian,” he answered in a rather sour voice. “Yes, and I thought it was something like this,” spoke Jan Kanty quickly. “Why must one always aggravate these Mazovians to their swords? I warn you here and now that, swordsman though you may be, the Mazovians are much more nimble with blades than with tongue.” “But he said further,” went on Tring in self-justification, and being unable to express himself clearly in Polish continued in German, much to Joseph’s distress, for he could not understand a word. “Have more caution, Tring,” said the scholar at length. “Since you are not enrolled as a regular student of the university you must be even more careful in your conduct than if you were. . . . Since it is you who have first drawn your weapon, it must be you who make peace. Go to-morrow at dawn and kiss your opponent upon the cheek and sue him for pardon.” This advice sat hard upon Tring’s temper, but he was so much influenced by the scholar that he finally bowed his head in consent. “And further than this I might say, Johann Tring, that such occurrences bring you no credit. I know not much of your studies these days, though I think sometimes that you keep company more with necromancers and astrologers of little merit than with such worthy men as Pan Kreutz and his equals. These are dark days when men look with suspicion upon all who engage in investigation whether it be honest or dishonorable, godly or selfish. Are you still at Kreutz’s?” “I am.” “Then come with us since we are bound for his dwelling. This Pan and his wife are taking the rooms below Kreutz’s.” The young man tried to peer into the darkness beyond the lantern light to see who the new tenants might be, but none of the Charnetskis were visible. They walked ahead a few steps until they came to the door where Joseph had been in the afternoon. Jan Kanty reached up and pulled the wire which hung down from above the door, and in a few minutes an old bent woman with a lantern scrutinized their faces from the open doorway and admitted them. “All will be well now,” said Joseph’s father. “We need not trouble you further.” “It has been otherwise than trouble,” protested the scholar. “You will be well and comfortable, I am sure, for all the arrangements have been made. To-morrow I shall send you the man who will tell you of your new duties. And now good night to you, Pan Andrew—Kovalski”—he hesitated a bit over the assumed name—“and may peace be with you.” “And with you.” They all repeated it.