-as we are speaking in
images--I felt like a sapling whose prop has been removed; even your
Wolff can never have longed for you more ardently. My father found little
time to give me. As soon as he saw me take my place in the Polish dance
he went with Uncle Pfinzing to the drinking room, and I did not see him
again till he came to bring me home. He had asked Fran Nutzel to look
after me, but her Kathrin was taken ill, as I heard when we were leaving,
and she disappeared with her during the first dance. So I moved forlornly
here and there until he--Heinz Schorlin--came and took charge of me."

"He? Sir Heinz Schorlin?" asked Els in surprise, a look of anxious
suspense clouding her pretty, frank face. "The reckless Swiss, whom
Countess Cordula said yesterday was the pike in the dull carp pond of the
court, and the only person for whom it was worth while to bear the
penance imposed in the confessional?"

"Cordula von Montfort!" cried Eva scornfully. "If she speaks to me I
shall not answer her, I can tell you. My cheeks crimson when I think of
the liberty----"

"Never mind her," said her sister soothingly. "She is a motherless child,
and therefore unlike us. As for Heinz Schorlin, he is certainly a gallant
knight; but, my innocent lambkin, he is a wolf nevertheless."

"A wolf?" asked Eva, opening her large eyes as wide as if they beheld
some terrible object. But she soon laughed softly, and added quietly:
"But a very harmless wolf, who humbly changes his nature when the right
hand strokes him. How you stare at me! I am not thinking of your beloved
Wolff, whom you have tamed tolerably well, but the wolf of Gubbio, which
did so much mischief, and to which St. Francis went forth, accosted him
as Brother Wolf, and reminded him that they both owed their lives to the
goodness of the same divine Father. The animal seemed to understand this,
for it nodded to him. The saint now made a bargain with the wolf, which
gave him its paw in pledge of the oath; and it kept the promise, for it
followed St. Francis into the city, and never again harmed anyone. The
citizens of Gubbio fed the good beast, and when it died sincerely mourned
it. If you wish to know from whom I heard this edifying story--which is
true, and can be confirmed by some one now in Nuremberg who witnessed
it--let me tell you that it was the wicked wolf himself; not the Gubbio
one, but he from Switzerland. An old Minorite monk, to whom he
compassionately gave his horse, i