"I must have that book. This one and that one that I know is another man
since he read Dr. Luther's words."
But if I was scarcely prepared for the interest felt in Dr. Luther in
our own land, true German that he is, still less did I expect that his
fame would have reached to Paris, and even further.
The night before I reached this city I was weary with a long day's walk
in the dust and heat, and had fallen asleep on a bench in the garden
outside a village inn, under the shade of a trellised vine, leaving my
pack partly open beside me. When I awoke, a grave and dignified-looking
man, who, from the richness of his dress and arms, seemed to be a
nobleman, and, from the cut of his slashed doubtlet and mantle, a
Spaniard, sat beside me, deeply engaged in reading one of my books. I
did not stir at first, but watched him in silence. The book he held was
a copy of Luther's Commentary on the Galatians, in Latin.
In a few minutes I moved, and respectfully saluted him.
"Is this book for sale?" he asked