hes,
the abbess, extended almost at full length upon a long and wide lounge
furnished with cushions, made a sign to the young chief to sit down near
her. Berthoald obeyed, increasingly taken with the unusual beauty of
Meroflede. A large fire flamed in the hearth. Rich vessels of silver
glistened on the table, which was covered with embroidered linen;
daintily carved flagons stood near gold cups; the plates held toothsome
dishes; a candelabrum, on which two little wax candles were burning,
barely lighted the spacious apartment, which was thrown into
semi-obscurity a few paces away from Meroflede and her guest, and into
complete darkness at its further ends. The lounge stood against a
wainscoted wall from which hung two portraits, one of them, coarsely
painted on an oak panel in Byzantine style, representing a Frankish
warrior barbarously accoutred after the fashion of the leudes of Clovis
three centuries earlier. Below the painting was the inscription:
"Gonthram Neroweg." Beside this picture was one of the abbess Meroflede
herself, draped in her long black and white veils; in one hand she held
her abbatial crosier, in the other a naked sword. The second picture was
much smaller than the first; it was painted on parchment, in the style
of the miniatures that sacred books were then commonly illuminated with.
Berthoald's eyes fell upon the two pictures at the moment when he was
about to sit down beside his hostess. At their sight a tremor ran
through him, and he remained as if thunder-struck. Presently he looked
from Gonthram Neroweg to Meroflede, and from the abbess back to the
former. He seemed to compare the resemblance between the two, an obvious
resemblance; like Neroweg, Meroflede's hair was reddish, her nose
beaked, her eyes green. The young chief could not conceal his
astonishment.

"You seem to contemplate with deep interest the portrait of one of my
ancestors, deceased several centuries ago!"

"You are of the race of Neroweg!"

"Yes, and my family still inhabits its vast domains of Auvergne,
conquered by my ancestors' swords, or bestowed upon them by royal
gifts.... But that is quite enough for the past. Glory to the dead, joy
to the living! Sit down here near me, and let us take supper.... I am an
odd abbess. But by Venus, I live like the other abbots and bishops of my
time, with the only difference that these mitred folks sup with young
girls, while I shall spend the night with a handsome soldier.... Will
th