“Wise man,” commented the officer; “and so, disheartened, I suppose, you returned here?”

“No, Lieutenant; the day has been warm, and I have traveled a good deal.  I went from the merchant’s house to the Rheingold tavern, there to drink a tankard of wine with my comrades, a score of men who have formed what they call the ironworkers’ guild.  I drank a tankard with them, and then came direct here, where I arrived but a few moments ago.”

The officer was more and more puzzled.  Despite this young man’s deferential manner, his language was scarcely that of a mechanic, yet this certainly was his own room, and he had told the absolute truth about his wanderings, as one who has nothing to fear.

The Lieutenant stood for a space of time with eyes to the floor, as silent as the soldiers behind him.  Suddenly he looked up.

“Show me the sword.  I’ll tell you where it’s made!”

If he expected hesitation he was mistaken.  Roland gave a joyful cry, swept aside the cloak, whisked forth the sword, flung it up, and caught it by the blade, then with a low bow handed it to the officer, who flashed it through the air, bent the blade between finger and thumb, then took it near the lamp and scrutinized it with the eye of an expert.

“A good weapon, my friend.  Where was it made?  I have never seen one like it.”

“It was made by my own hands here in Frankfort.  Of course I go first to those who know least about the matter, but if I can get an introduction to his Lordship of Mayence, his officers will know a sword when they see it; and I hope to-night fortune, in leading you to my door, has brought me an officer of Mayence.”

The Lieutenant looked at him, and for the first time smiled.  He handed back the weapon, signed to his men to unbolt the door, which they did, stepping out; then he said: 

“I bid you good-night.  Your answers have been satisfactory, but I set you down not as a mechanic, but a very excellent merchant of swords.”

“Lieutenant,” said Roland, “you do not flatter me.”  He raised his weapon in military salute.  “I am no merchant, but a sword maker.”

XIX

THE BETROTHAL IN THE GARDEN

Next morning Prince Roland sent a letter to the Archbishop of Mayence informing him that the Empress had taken up her abode in the Palace of her old friend, the Lord of Cologne, giving the reasons for this move and his own desertion of the Imperial Palace, and asking permission to call upon his mother each day.  The messenger brought back a prompt reply, which commended the delicacy of his motives in leaving the Royal Palace, but added that, so far as the three Archbishops were concerned, the Saalhof was still at their disposal:  of course Prince Roland’s movements were quite untrammeled, and again, so far as concerned the three Archbishops, he was at liberty to visit whom he pleased, as often as he liked.