ted,
brought unasked to him and his companion sparkling Malvoisie in Venetian
glasses, and Heinz began the conversation by inviting Eva to drink to
the many days brightened by her favour which, if the saints heard his
prayer, should follow this, the most delightful evening of his life. He
omitted to ask her to pour the wine for him, knowing that many of the
guests in the ballroom were watching them; besides the saucy little
count came again and again to fill his goblet, and he wished to avoid
everything which might elicit sarcastic comment. The young cup-bearer
desisted as soon as he noticed the respectful reserve with which Heinz
treated his lady, and the youth was soon obliged to leave the hall
with his liege lord, Duke Rudolph of Austria, who was to set out for
Carinthia early the following morning, and withdrew with his wife
without sharing the banquet. The latter accompanied her husband to the
castle, but she was to remain in Nuremberg during the session of the
Reichstag with the lonely widowed Emperor, who was especially fond of
the young Bohemian princess. Before and during the dance with Heinz the
latter had requested him to use the noble Arabian steed, a gift from
the Sultan Kalaun to the Emperor, who had bestowed it upon her, and also
expressed the hope of meeting the knight frequently.

In the conversation which Heinz began with Eva he was at first
obliged to defend himself, for she had admitted that she had heard the
Burgravine's warning to beware of him.

At the same time she had found opportunity to tell him that her heart
yearned for something different from worldly love, and that she felt
safe from every one because St. Clare was constantly watching over her.

He replied that he had been reared in piety, that he knew the close
relations existing between her patron saint and the holy Francis of
Assisi, and that he, too, had experienced many things from this man of
God. Eva, with warm interest, asked when and where, and he willingly
told her.

On the way from Augsburg to Nuremberg, while riding in advance of the
imperial court, he had met an old barefooted man who, exhausted by the
heat of the day, had sunk down by the side of the road as if lifeless,
with his head resting against the trunk of a tree. Moved with
compassion, he dismounted, to try to do something for the greybeard.
A few sips of wine had restored him to consciousness, but his weary,
wounded feet would carry him no farther. Yet it would h