nd artistic stuff. Did you expect to capture
them from us?"

"Scarcely, sir."

"Then what brought you among our enemies?"

"Baron Floyon belongs to my mother's family. He marched against you, and
as I approved his cause...."

"And pillage pleases you, you felt disposed to break a lance."

"Quite right."

"And you have done your cause no harm. Where do you live?"

"Surely you know: in Germany."

"Germany is a very large country."

"In the Black Forest in Swabia."

"And your name?"

The prisoner made no reply; but Ulrich fixed his eyes upon the coat of
arms on the knight's armor, looked at him more steadily, and a strange
smile hovered around his lips as he approached him, saying in an altered
tone: "You think the Navarrete will demand from Count von Frohlinger a
ransom as large as his fields and forests?"

"You know me?"

"Perhaps so, Count Lips."

"By Heavens!"

"Ah, ha, you went from the monastery to the field."

"From the monastery? How do you know that, sir?"

"We are old acquaintances, Count Lips. Look me in the eyes."

The other gazed keenly at the Eletto, shook his head, and said: "You
have not seemed a total stranger to me from the first; but I never was
in Spain."

"But I have been in Swabia, and at that time you did me a kindness.
Would your ransom be large enough to cover the cost of a broken church
window?"

The count opened his eyes in amazement and a bright smile flashed over
his face as, clapping his hands, he exclaimed with sincere delight:

"You, you--you are Ulrich! I'll be damned, if I'm mistaken! But who the
devil would discover a child of the Black Forest in the Spanish Eletto?"

"That I am one, must remain a secret between us for the present,"
exclaimed Ulrich, extending his hand to the count. "Keep silence, and
you will be free--the window will cover the ransom!"

"Holy Virgin! If all the windows in the monastery were as dear, the
monks might grow fat!" cried the count. "A Swabian heart remains half
Swabian, even when it beats under a Spanish doublet. Its luck, Turk's
luck, that I followed Floyon;--and your old father, Adam? And Ruth--what
a pleasure!"

"You ought to know... my father is dead, died long, long ago!" said
Ulrich, lowering his eyes.

"Dead!" exclaimed the other. "And long ago? I saw him at the anvil three
weeks since."

"My father? At the anvil? And Ruth?..." stammered Ulrich, gazing at the
other with a pallid, questioning face.

"They are alive,