At sundown Schoppe espied the Spaniard, who, flying out of the Prince's Garden to escape the fac-simile, Siebenkäs, came running into his hands. He stiffened at the sight of the madman, cried, "Lord and God, are you behind me and before me, are you red and green?" and rushed sidewards into the old Chapel of the Cross, to fall on his knees and invoke the Holy Virgin. Schoppe stretched out his condor wings, shot off and dropped them together before the chapel. "Turn thyself round, Spaniard, I'll devour thee from top to toe," said he. "Holy mother of God, help me,--good, bad spirit, stand by me, O gloomy one!" prayed the Baldhead. "Step round, knave, without further trick," said Schoppe, describing from behind with his sword a horse-shoe in the air. He turned round piteously on his knees, and his head hung slackly down from his neck. Schoppe began: "Now I've got thee, villain! thou prayest to me to no purpose on thy knees; I hold the sword of judgment,--mad am I, too,--in a few minutes, when we have said our say, I stick this present cane-sword into thee,--for I am a madman, full of fixed ideas." "Ah, sir," replied the Baldhead, "you are certainly entirely rational and in your head and yourself; I beg to live; killing is so great a deadly sin." Schoppe replied: "As to my understanding, of that another time! I have already shot thee in effigy, now will I not carry round in vain the deadly sin and the sting of conscience, but set myself about it _in naturâ_, thou hangman of souls, thou trepan of hearts!" "Schoppe, Schoppe!" cried at this moment, several times over, at great distances, a something with Albano's voice. He looked swiftly round; nothing was to be seen. "Good Schoppe," it continued, "let my uncle go!" Now Schoppe blazed up, and raised his dagger for a thrust. "Thou absolutely too abominably petrified ventriloquist! Should not one immediately stick the trumpery here as they do a wounded horse? Seest thou not, then, the hellish, cursed murder- and death-stroke before thy nose, thy pest-cart already tackled up, the stuffed-out skeleton of death cased in this flesh of mine, and just lifting the scythe? Confess, Spaniard, for Jesus' sake, confess! Fly, ere I stick, spit thee! Thou wilt thereby have some plea with the devils in hell; otherwise thou art, even down below there, an utterly ruined man." "Where sits the Pater? I will confess, indeed," said the Spaniard. "Here stands thy gallows-Pater; behold the shorn poll," said Schoppe, shaking off the hat from his bending, close-shaven head. "Hear my confession! But by night the gloomy one suffers me not to tell the truth,--he comes certainly, he comes to take me, Pater! fumigate me, baptize me against the devil!"