to seem one in such sweet eyes was
beginning to lead me astray. And now, as to our business in the streets
at this hour, believe the best of us.'

'I will! I do!' said Margarita.

'Lisbeth! Lisbeth!' called Gottlieb. 'Breakfast, little sister! our
champion is starving. He asks for wurst, milk-loaves, wine, and all thy
rarest conserves. Haste, then, for the honour of Cologne is at stake.'

Aunt Lisbeth jingled her keys in and out, and soon that harmony drew a
number of domestics with platters of swine flesh, rolls of white wheaten
bread, the perpetual worst, milk, wine, barley-bread, and household
stores of dainties in profusion, all sparkling on silver, relieved by
spotless white cloth. Gottlieb beheld such a sunny twinkle across the
Goshawk's face at this hospitable array, that he gave the word of onset
without waiting for Berthold, and his guest immediately fell to, and did
not relax in his exertions for a full half-hour by the Cathedral clock,
eschewing the beer with a wry look made up of scorn and ruefulness, and
drinking a well-brimmed health in Rhine wine all round. Margarita was
pensive: Aunt Lisbeth on her guard. Gottlieb remembered Charles the
Great's counsel to Archbishop Turpin, and did his best to remain on
earth one of its lords dominant.

'Poor Berthold!' said he. ''Tis a good lad, and deserves his seat at my
table oftener. I suppose the flower-pot business has detained him. We'll
drink to him: eh, Grete?'

'Drink to him, dear father!--but here he is to thank you in person.'

Margarita felt a twinge of pity as Berthold entered. The livid stains
of his bruise deepened about his eyes, and gave them a wicked light
whenever they were fixed intently; but they looked earnest; and spoke
of a combat in which he could say that he proved no coward and was used
with some cruelty. She turned on the Goshawk a mute reproach; yet smiled
and loved him well when she beheld him stretch a hand of welcome and
proffer a brotherly glass to Berthold. The rich goldsmith's son was
occupied in studying the horoscope of his fortunes in Margarita's eyes;
but when Margarita directed his attention to Guy, he turned to him with
a glance of astonishment that yielded to cordial greeting.

'Well done, Berthold, my brave boy! All are friends who sit at table,'
said Gottlieb. 'In any case, at my table:

"'Tis a worthy foe
Forgives the blow
Was dealt him full and fairly,"

says the song; and the prove