name is Heinrich--or to more intimate
friends, among whom you might easily be numbered if we don't deprive each
other of the pleasure of meeting again under the sun--Heinz Schorlin."

"Schorlin?" asked Wolff in surprise. "Then you are the knight who, when a
beardless boy, cut down on the Marchfield the Bohemian whose lance had
slain the Emperor's charger, the Swiss who aided him to mount the steed
of Ramsweg of Thurgau--your uncle, if I am not mistaken--and then took
the wild ride to bring up the tall Capeller, with his troops, who so
gloriously decided the day."

"And," laughed Heinz, "who was finally borne off the field as dead before
the fulfilment of his darling wish to redden Swiss steel with royal
Bohemian blood. This closed the chronicle, Herr--what shall I call you?"

"Wolff Eysvogel, of Nuremberg," replied the other.

"Aha! A son of the rich merchant where the Duke of Gulich found
quarters?" cried the Swiss, lifting his cap bordered with fine miniver.
"May confusion seize me! If I were not my father's son, I wouldn't mind
changing places with you. It must make the neck uncommonly stiff,
methinks, to have a knightly escutcheon on door and breast, and yet be
able to fling florins and zecchins broadcast without offending the devil
by an empty purse. If you don't happen to know how such a thing looks, I
can show you."

"Yet rumour says," observed Wolff, "that the Emperor is gracious to you,
and knows how to fill it again."

"If one doesn't go too far," replied Heinz, "and my royal master, who
lacks spending money himself only too often, doesn't keep his word that
it was done for the last time. I heard that yesterday morning, and
thought that the golden blessing which preceded it would last the dear
saints only knew how long. But ere the cock had crowed even once this
morning the last florin had vanished. Dice, Herr Wolff Eysvogel--dice!"

"Then I would keep my hands off them," said the other meaningly.

"If the Old Nick or some one else did not always guide them back! Did
you, a rich man's son, never try what the dice would do for you?"

"Yes, Sir Knight. It was at Venice, where I was pursuing my studies, and
tried my luck at gambling on many a merry evening with other sons of
mercantile families from Nuremberg, Augsburg, and Cologne."

"And your feathers were generously plucked?"

"By no means. I usually left a winner. But after they fleeced a dear
friend from Ulm, and he robbed his master, I dropped d