The bailiff and Roger de Blonay hastened forward to receive the Baron de Willading and his friends, who were carried in a tumultuous and joyful manner into the old castle that adjoins the port, and from which, in truth, the latter derives its name.  The Bernois noble was too much affected with the scenes through which he had so lately passed, and with the strong and ungovernable tenderness of Adelheid, who had wept over him as a mother sobs over her recovered child, to exchange greetings with him of Vaud, in the hearty, cordial manner that ordinarily characterized their meetings.  Still their peculiar habits shone through the restraint.

“Thou seest me just rescued from the fishes of thy Leman, dear de Blonay,” he said, squeezing the other’s hand with emotion, as, leaning on his shoulder, they went into the chateau.  “But for yonder brave youth, and as honest a mariner as ever floated on water, fresh or salt, all that is left of old Melchior de Willading would, at this moment, be of less value than the meanest fera in thy lake!”

“God be praised that thou art as we see thee!  We feared for thee, and boats are out at this moment in search of thy bark:  but it has been wiser ordered.  This brave young man, who, I see, is both a Swiss and a soldier, is doubly welcome among us,—­in the two characters just named, and as one that hath done thee and us so great a service.”

Sigismund received the compliments which he so well merited with modesty.  The bailiff, however, not content with making the usual felicitations, whispered in his ear that a service like this, rendered to one of its most esteemed nobles, would not be forgotten by the Councils on a proper occasion.

“Thou art happily arrived, Herr Melchior,” he then added, aloud; “come as thou wilt, floating or sailing in air.  We have thee among us none the worse for the accident, and we thank God, as Roger de Blonay has just so well observed.  Our Abbaye is like to be a gallant ceremony, for divers gentlemen of name are in the town, and I hear of more that are pricking forward among the mountains from countries beyond the Rhine.  Hadst thou no other companions in the bark but these I see around us?”

“There is another, and I wonder that he is not here!  ’Tis a noble Genoese, that thou hast often heard me name, Sire de Blonay, as one that I love.  Gaetano Grimaldi is a name familiar to thee, or the words of friendship have been uttered in an idle ear.”

“I have heard so much of the Italian that I can almost fancy him an old and tried acquaintance.  When thou first returnedst from the Italian wars, thy tongue was never weary of recounting his praises:  it was Gaetano said this—­Gaetano thought thus—­Gaetano did that!  Surely he is not of thy company?”