anger, nor forgive the
ebullition of a generous mind when assailed in its most vulnerable
point.

A slight tap on the shoulder interrupted his thoughts, and as he turned
round, his friendly neighbour at table, the scribe to the grand
council, stood before him.

"I'll bet, you have not looked out for a lodging yet," said Dieterick
von Kraft, "and it might be now somewhat difficult to find one, as it
is getting dark, and the town is very full."

Albert acknowledged he had not thought about it; he hoped however to
find a room in one of the public inns.

"I would not have you be quite so sure of that," answered the other,
"and, should you find a corner in one of those houses, you must reckon
upon being but badly off. But if my lodging would not appear too small
for you, it is very much at your service."

The good secretary of the council pressed Albert with so much
cordiality, that he did not hesitate to take advantage of his
invitation, though he almost feared lest, when the effects of the wine
had passed off, his host might regret his proffered hospitality to him,
a perfect stranger. Dieterick von Kraft, however, appeared rejoiced at
the readiness with which his proposal was accepted, and taking Albert's
arm, with a hearty shake of the hand, led him out of the room.

The square before the town-hall was in the mean time the scene of much
bustle and confusion. The days were still short, and the evening having
broken in upon the dinner-party, torches were lighted, the glare of
which illumined but sparingly the large space, and played on the
windows of the opposite houses, and on the polished helmets and
cuirasses of the knights. Loud calls for horses and attendants sounding
through the town-hall, the clatter of swords, the running here and
there of many men, coupled with the barking of dogs, the neighing and
pawing of impatient horses, formed a scene, which resembled more the
surprise of a military post in the night by an enemy, than the breaking
up of a convivial festival.

Albert remained in the hall in a state of amazement at the sight of so
many jovial faces and powerful figures, who, having mounted their
horses, retired in small groups, singing and springing about in all the
hilarity of youth. This nocturnal, fleeting scene, forcibly impressed
him with the conviction of the uncertainty and changeableness of all
worldly events. These same joyous associates, thought he, would soon be
engaged in the dangerous con