"Welcome again, Herr Bailiff, and for the ninth time welcome!" continued
the Prior, as he took the hand of Peterchen, leading the way to his own
private parlor; "thou art always a welcome guest on the mountain, for we
know that we entertain at least a friend."
"And a heretic," added Peterchen, laughing with all his might, though he
uttered a joke which he now repeated for the ninth time. "We have met
often, Herr Prior, and I hope we shall meet finally, after all our
clambering of mountains, as well as our clambering after worldly benefits,
is ended, and that where honest men come together, in spite of Pope or
Luther, books, sermons, aves, or devils! This thought cheers me whenever I
offer thee my hand," shaking that of the other with a hearty good-will;
"for I should not like to think, Father Michael, that, when we set out on
the last long journey, we are to travel for ever in different ways. Thou
may'st tarry awhile, if thou seest fit, in thy purgatory, which is a
lodging of thine own invention, and should therefore suit thee, but I
trust to continue on, until fairly housed in heaven, miserable and unhappy
sinner, that I am!"
Peterchen spoke in the confident voice of one accustomed to utter his
sentiments to inferiors, who either dared not, or did not deem it wise, to
dispute his oracles; and he ended with another deep-mouthed laugh, that
filled the vaulted apartment of the smiling prior to the ceiling.
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