‘Poor Berthold!’ said he. ’’Tis a good lad, and deserves his seat at my table oftener.  I suppose the flower-pot business has detained him.  We’ll drink to him:  eh, Grete?’

‘Drink to him, dear father!—­but here he is to thank you in person.’

Margarita felt a twinge of pity as Berthold entered.  The livid stains of his bruise deepened about his eyes, and gave them a wicked light whenever they were fixed intently; but they looked earnest; and spoke of a combat in which he could say that he proved no coward and was used with some cruelty.  She turned on the Goshawk a mute reproach; yet smiled and loved him well when she beheld him stretch a hand of welcome and proffer a brotherly glass to Berthold.  The rich goldsmith’s son was occupied in studying the horoscope of his fortunes in Margarita’s eyes; but when Margarita directed his attention to Guy, he turned to him with a glance of astonishment that yielded to cordial greeting.

‘Well done, Berthold, my brave boy!  All are friends who sit at table,’ said Gottlieb.  ’In any case, at my table: 

          “’Tis a worthy foe
          Forgives the blow
          Was dealt him full and fairly,”

says the song; and the proverb takes it up with, “A generous enemy is a friend on the wrong side”; and no one’s to blame for that, save old Dame Fortune.  So now a bumper to this jovial make-up between you.  Lisbeth! you must drink it.’

The little woman bowed melancholy obedience.

‘Why did you fling and run?’ whispered Guy to Berthold.

‘Because you were two against one.’

’Two against one, man!  Why, have you no such thing as fair play in this land of yours?  Did you think I should have taken advantage of that?’

‘How could I tell who you were, or what you would do?’ muttered Berthold, somewhat sullenly.

’Truly no, friend!  So you ran to make yourself twenty to two?  But don’t be down on the subject.  I was going to say, that though I treated you in a manner upright, ’twas perhaps a trifle severe, considering your youth:  but an example’s everything; and I must let you know in confidence, that no rascal truncheon had I flung in my life before; so, you see, I gave you all the chances.’

Berthold moved his lips in reply; but thinking of the figure of defeat he was exhibiting before Margarita, caused him to estimate unfavourably what chances had stood in his favour.

The health was drunk.  Aunt Lisbeth touched the smoky yellow glass with a mincing lip, and beckoned Margarita to withdraw.

‘The tapestry, child!’ she said.  ’Dangerous things are uttered after the third glass, I know, Margarita.’

‘Do you call my champion handsome, aunt?’

’I was going to speak to you about him, Margarita.  If I remember, he has rough, good looks, as far as they go.  Yes:  but thou, maiden, art thou thinking of him?  I have thrice watched him wink; and that, as we know, is a habit of them that have sold themselves.  And what is frail womankind to expect from such a brawny animal?’