hats, the daughters of the master workmen with their long floating locks
escaping from under richly embroidered caps, the maidservants with neat
little baskets on their round arms, afforded a varied and pleasing scene.
Everything that reached the ear, too, was cheery and amusing, and
rendered the knight's mood brighter.

Proud of his newly acquired power of resistance, he walked on, after
yielding to the impulse to buy the handsomest bouquet of roses offered by
the pretty flower girl Kuni, whom, on Countess Cordula's account, during
the Reichstag he had patronised more frequently than usual. Without
knowing why himself, he did not tell the pretty girl, who had already
trusted him very often, for whom he intended it, but ordered it to be
charged with the rest.

At the corner of the Bindergasse, where Heinz Schorlin lodged, he found a
beggar woman with a bandaged head, whom he commissioned to carry the
roses to the Eysvogel mansion and give them to his wife, Fran Isabella
Siebenburg, in his--Sir Seitz's--name.

In front of the house occupied by the master cloth-maker Deichsler, where
the Swiss had his quarters, the tailor Ploss stopped him. He came from
Heinz Schorlin, and reminded Siebenburg of his by no means inconsiderable
debt; but the latter begged him to have patience a little longer, as he
had met with heavy losses at the gaming table the night before, and Ploss
agreed to wait till St. Heinrich's day--[15th July].

How many besides the tailor had large demands! and when could Seitz begin
to cancel his debts? The thought even darted through his mind that
instead of carrying his good intentions into effect he had not paid for
the roses--but flowers were so cheap in June!

Besides, he had no time to dwell upon this trifle, for while quieting the
tailor he had noticed a girl who, notwithstanding the heat of the day,
kept her face hidden so far under her Riese--[A kerchief for the head,
resembling a veil, made of fine linen.]--that nothing but her eyes and
the upper part of her nose were visible. She had given him a hasty nod
and, if he was not mistaken, it was the Ortlieb sisters' maid, whom he
had often seen.

When he again looked after the muffled figure she was hurrying up the
cloth-maker's stairs.

It was Katterle herself.

At the first landing she had glanced back, and in doing so pushed the
kerchief aside. What could she want with the Swiss? It could scarcely be
anything except to bring him a message f