At which Helene laughed a merry little laugh—­well-pleased, too, the minx, as I could see.

“What are courtships on the street to you, Sir Hugo,” she returned, “with your ‘Twinkle-Twankle’ singing-women over the way, and—­Lord, how went it?

“‘My true love hath my heart and I have his.’

“Ha! ha!  Sir Gallant, what need you with more?  Would you have as many loves as the Grand Turk, and invent new love-makings for each of them?  Shall we maidens petition Duke Casimir to banish the other lads of the town and leave only Hugo Gottfried for all of us?”

And then she went on to other such silly talk that I think it not worth reporting.

Whereupon I was about to leave the room in a transport of just indignation, and that without speaking, when Helene called to me.

“Hugo!” she said, very softly, as she alone could speak, and that only when it liked her to make friends.

I turned me about with some dignity, but knowing in my heart that it was all over with me.

“Well, what may be your will, madam?” said I.

Helene came towards me with uplifted, petitionary eyes.

“You are not going to be angry with me, Hugo!” she said.  And she lifted her eyes again upon me—­irresistible, compelling, solvent of dignities, and able to break down all pride.

O all ye men who have never seen my Helene look up thus at you—­but only common other eyes, go and hang yourselves on high trees for very envy.  Well, as I say, Helene looked up at me.  She kept on looking up at me.

And I—­well, I hung a moment on my pride, and then—­clasped her in my arms.

“Dear minx, thrice wicked one!” I exclaimed, “wherefore do you torment me—­break my heart?”

“Because,” said she, escaping as soon as she had gained her pretty, rascal way, “you think yourself so clever, Hugo, such an irresistible person, that you must be forever returning to this window and getting this book of chivalry by heart.  Now you are going to be cross again.  Oh, shame, and with your little sister—­

“’That never did you any harm,
 But killed the mice in your father’s barn.’”

With such babyish words she talked the frowns off my face, or, when they would not go fast enough, hastened them by reaching up and smoothing them away with her finger.

“Now,” she said, setting her head to the side, “what a nice sweet Great Brother!  Let him sit down here on the great chair.”

So I sat down, well pleased enough, not knowing what mischief the pranksome maid had now in her head, but judging that the matter might turn out well for me.

Then Helene stole round to the back of the chair, and, taking me by the ears, she gave first one and then the other of them a pull.

“That,” she said, pulling the right, “is for listening to the little cat over the way that squalls on the tiles!  And that” (giving the other a sound tug) “is for being a dandiprat when my gossip Katrin was here!”