es she
yielded, and her natural grace, as well as her quick ear for time, helped
her to catch the unfamiliar steps without difficulty. While doing so he
whispered that even the angels in heaven could have no greater bliss than
it afforded him to float thus through the hall, clasping her in his arm,
while she glanced up at him with a happy look and bent her little head in
assent. She would gladly have exclaimed warmly: "Yes, indeed! Yet the
Burgravine says that danger threatens me from you, you dear, kind fellow,
and I should do well to avoid you."

Besides, she felt indebted to him. What would have befallen her here in
his absence! Moreover, it gave her a strange sense of pleasure to gaze
into his eyes, allow herself to be borne through the wide hall by his
strong arm, and while pressed closely to his side imagine that his
swiftly throbbing heart felt the pulsing of her own. Instead of injuring
her, wishing her evil, and asking her to do anything wrong, he certainly
had only good intentions. He had cared for her as if he occupied the
place of her own brother who fell in the battle of Marchfield. It would
have given him most pleasure--he had said so himself--to dance everything
with her, but decorum and the royal dames who kept him in attendance
would not permit it. However, he came to her in every pause to exchange
at least a few brief words and a glance. During the longest one, which
lasted more than an hour and was devoted to the refreshment of the
guests, he led her into a side room which had been transformed into a
blossoming garden.

Seats were placed behind the green birch trees--amid whose boughs hung
gay lamps--and the rose bushes which surrounded a fountain of perfumed
water, and Eva had already followed the Swiss knight across the threshold
when she saw among the branches at the end of the room the Countess
Cordula, at whose feet several young nobles knelt or reclined, among them
Seitz Siebenburg, the brother-in-law of Wolff Eysvogel, her sister's
betrothed bridegroom.

The manner of the husband and father whose wife, only six weeks before,
had become the mother of twin babies--beautiful boys--and who for
Cordula's sake so shamefully forgot his duties, crimsoned her cheeks with
a flush of anger, while the half-disapproving, half-troubled look that
Sir Boemund Altrosen cast, sometimes at the countess, sometimes at
Siebenburg, showed her that she herself was on the eve of doing something
which the best person