Your quarrel with the Swiss
is over a few cart-loads of sheepskins. These same Swiss took from my
father our ancient homestead, the old Castle of Hapsburg, and the
surrounding territory of Aargau."

"I have heard of the spoliation, and have often wondered at your
father's meek submission," said the duke, with an almost imperceptible
sneer. Like Richard the Lion-hearted, of England, butchery was this
duke's trade, and he despised a man who did not practise it on all
possible occasions. A pretext for a quarrel is balm to the soul of
a hero.

"The mountains of Switzerland, my lord, are the graveyard of foreign
soldiers," Max replied. "Old Hapsburg Castle is a mere hawks' crag, as
its name implies, and the half-score of mountain peaks my father lost
with it are not worth the life of his humblest subject. He loves his
people, and would not shed their blood to soothe his wounded pride. The
man who makes war should fight in the front rank."

"There is where I fight, young sir," returned Charles.

"The world knows that fact, my lord," responded Max. "My father cannot
fight at the head of his army, therefore, he makes war only in defence
of his people's hearths. It is possible that after consulting with my
friend, Sir Karl, I may ask the honor of serving with Your Grace against
these Swiss who despoiled my house. Is Your Grace now satisfied that we
are not Swiss spies? And are we welcome to sojourn for a time in
Peronne? Or shall we leave Burgundy and return to my father in Styria,
to tell him that you turned a guest and a friend from your door?"

"You are very welcome, Sir Count, and you, Sir Karl," answered the duke,
giving his right hand to Max and familiarly offering me his left. This
hard duke had been beaten into a gracious mood by Max's adroit mixture
of flattery and boldness.

A soft answer may turn away wrath, but it may also involve the
disagreeable necessity of turning the other cheek. If it be not tempered
by spirit, it is apt to arouse contempt. The duke remained silent for
the space of a minute or two. He was evidently struggling to suppress a
good impulse. Then he turned to me and said, laughingly:--

"By my soul, Sir Karl, you have brought us a Roland and a Demosthenes in
one. Where learned you your oratory, Sir Count?"

"From a just cause, my lord," quickly retorted Max.

"I fear I have had the worst of this encounter, Hymbercourt," said the
duke, smiling, "and I see nothing left for me but apology."