whom she had mistaken
him. It was Boemund Altrosen, famed as victor in many a tournament,
who when a boy had often been at the house of her uncle, Herr Pfinzing.
There was no mistaking his coal-black, waving locks. It was said that
the dark-blue sleeve of a woman's robe which he wore on his helmet in
the jousts belonged to the Countess von Montfort. She was his lady, for
whom he had won so many victories.

Heinz Schorlin had mentioned him at the ball as his friend, and told
her that the gallant knight would vainly strive to win the reckless
countess. Perhaps he was now looking at the house so intently on
Cordula's account. Or had Heinz, his friend, sent him to watch over her
while he was possibly detained by the Emperor?

But, no; he had just gone nearer to the house to question a man in the
von Montfort livery, and the reply now led him to move on towards the
convent.

Were the tears which filled Eva's eyes caused by the smoke that
poured from the fire more and more densely into the street, or to
disappointment and bitter anguish?

The danger which threatened her aunt and her beloved nuns also increased
her excitement. True, the sisters themselves seemed to feel safe, for
snatches of their singing were still audible amid the ringing of the
bells and the blare of the trumpets, but the fire must have been very
hard to extinguish. This was proved by the bright glow on the linden
tree and the shouts of command which, though unintelligible, rose above
every other sound.

The street below was becoming less crowded. Most of those who had
left their beds to render aid had already reached the scene of the
conflagration. Only a few stragglers still passed through the open gate
towards the Marienthurm. Among them were horsemen, and Eva's heart again
throbbed more quickly, but only for a short time. Heinz Schorlin was far
taller than the man who had again deceived her, and his way would hardly
have been lighted by two mounted torch bearers. Soon her rosy lips even
parted in a smile, for the sturdy little man on the big, strong-boned
Vinzgau steed, whom she now saw distinctly, was her dearest relative,
her godfather, the kind, shrewd, imperial magistrate, Berthold Pfinzing,
the husband of her father's sister, good Aunt Christine.

If he looked up he would tell her about old Herr Vorchtel. Nor did he
ride past his darling's house without a glance at her window, and when
he saw Eva beckon he ordered the servants to keep back,