Oh, Polly,
wasn't that Pentagonal Tower fine? What is it they call it in German?"
But Polly didn't hear, being absorbed in the Wagner festival of which
her mind was full, so Jasper answered for her. "Alt-Nuenberg, you mean,
the oldest building of all Nuremberg."
"Yes," said Adela, "well, I got two or three sketches of that tower."
"Did you?" cried Jasper, "now that's good."
"And I got that horrible old robber-knight,--what's his name?--sitting
inside his cell, you know."
"Eppelein von Gallingen," supplied Jasper. "Well, he was a horrible-looking
customer, and that's a fact."
"Oh, I liked him," said Adela, who rejoiced in ugly things if only
picturesque, "and I got into one corner of the cell opposite him, so as
to sketch it all as well as I could in such a dark place, and a lady
came down the little stairs; you remember them."
"I rather think I do," said Jasper, grimly. "I was trying to get out of
the way of a huge party of tourists, and I nearly broke my neck."
"Well, this lady came down the stairs. I could see her where I sat, but
she couldn't see me, it was so dark in the cell; and she called to her
husband--I guess he was her husband, because he looked so
_triste_." Adela often fell into French, from being so long at the
Paris school, and not from affectation in the least. "And she said,
'Come, Henry, let us see what is in there.' And she took one step in,
and peered into that robber-knight's face; you know how he is sitting
on a little stool, his black hair all round his face, staring at one.
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