ng whip fairly quivered in her right hand as,
after informing Ernst Ortlieb where Els had gone, she warned the
gentlemen that it was time to depart, and Seitz Siebenburg submissively,
yet as familiarly as if he had a right to her special favour, held out
his hand in farewell.

But Countess Cordula withdrew hers with visible dislike, saying in a tone
of chilling repulse: "Remember me to your wife, Sir Knight. Tell her to
take care that her twin sons resemble their father as little as
possible."

"Then you want to have two ardent admirers the less?" asked Siebenburg
gaily, supposing that the countess's remark was a jest.

But when she did not, as he expected, give these insulting words an
interpretation favourable to him, but merely shrugged her shoulders
scornfully, he added, glancing fiercely at the Swiss knight:

"True, you would doubtless be better pleased should the boys grow up to
resemble the lucky Sir Heinz Schorlin, for whose sake you proved yourself
the inventor of tales more marvellous, if not more credible, than the
most skilful travelling minstrel."

"Perhaps so," replied the countess with contemptuous brevity. "But I
should be satisfied if the twins--and this agrees with my first wish
should grow up honest men. If you should pay me the honour of a visit
during the next few days, Sir Seitz, I could not receive it."

With these words she turned away, paying no further heed to him, though
he called her name aloud, as if half frantic.

CHAPTER XI.

It was after midnight when the servants closed the heavy door of the
Ortlieb mansion. The late guests had left it, mounted their horses, and
ridden away together through the Frauenthor into the city.

The moon no longer lighted their way. A sultry wind had swept from the
southwest masses of grey clouds, which constantly grew denser and darker.
Heinz Schorlin did not notice it, but his follower, Biberli, called his
attention to the rising storm and entreated him to choose the nearest
road to the city. To remain outside the gate in such darkness would be
uncomfortable, nay, perhaps not without peril, but the knight merely
flung him the peevish answer, "So much the better," and, to Biberli's
surprise, turned into St. Klarengasse, which brought him by no means
nearer to his distant lodgings in the Bindergasse.

It was unfortunate to be warmly devoted to a master who had no fear, whom
he was obliged to serve as a messenger of love, and who now probably
sc