When Roger de Blonay, by the aid of a good glass, had assured himself that the bark which lay off St. Saphorin, in the even tide, with yards a-cock-bill, and sails pendent in their picturesque drapery, contained a party of gentle travellers who occupied the stern, and saw by the plumes and robes that a female of condition was among them, he gave an order to prepare the beacon-fire, and descended to the port, in order to be in readiness to receive his friend.  Here he found the bailiff, pacing the public promenade, which is washed by the limpid water of the lake, with the air of a man who had more on his mind than the daily cares of office.  Although the Baron de Blonay was a Vaudois, and looked upon all the functionaries of his country’s conquerors with a species of hereditary dislike, he was by nature a man of mild and courteous qualities, and the meeting was, as usual, friendly in the externals, and of seeming cordiality.  Great care was had by both to speak in the second person; on the part of the Vaudois, that it might be seen he valued himself as, at least, the equal of the representative of Berne, and, on that of the bailiff, in order to show that his office made him as good as the head of the oldest house in all that region.

“Thou expectest to see friends from Genf in yonder bark?” said the Herr Hofmeister, abruptly.

“And thou?”

“A friend, and one more than a friend;” answered the bailiff, evasively.  “My advices tell me that Melchior de Willading will sojourn among us during the festival of the Abbaye, and secret notice has been sent that there will be another here, who wishes to see our merry-making, without pretension to the honors that he might fairly claim.”

“It is not rare for nobles of mark, and even princes, to visit us on these occasions, under feigned names and without the eclat of their rank, for the great, when they descend to follies, seldom like to bring their high condition within their influence.”

“The wiser they.  I have my own troubles with these accursed fooleries, for—­it may be a weakness, but it is one that is official—­I cannot help imagining that a bailiff cuts but a shabby figure before the people, in the presence of so many gods and goddesses.  To own to thee the truth, I rejoice that he who cometh, cometh as he doth.—­Hast letters of late date from Berne?”

“None; though report says that there is like to be a change among some of those who fill the public trusts.”

“So much the worse!” growled the bailiff.  “Is it to be expected that men who never did an hour’s duty in a charge can acquit themselves like those who have, it might be said, sucked in practice with their mother’s milk?”

“Ay; this is well enough for thee; but others say that even the Erlachs had a beginning.”

“Himmel!  Am I a heathen to deny this?  As many beginnings as thou wilt, good Roger, but I like not thy ends.  No doubt an Erlach is mortal, like all of us, and even a created being; but a man is not a charge.  Let the clay die, if thou wilt, but, if thou wouldst have faithful or skilful servants look to the true successor.  But we will have none of this to-day.—­Hast many guests at Blonay?”