“And the knight?” asked Els.  “Whoever so heroically risks his life for his lady’s wish should be sure of her gratitude.”

“Boemund can rely on that,” said Cordula positively.  “At least, what he did this time for my sake weighs more heavily in the scale than the lances he has broken, his love songs, or the mute language of his longing eyes.  Those are shafts which do not pierce my heart.  How reproachfully you look at me!  Let him take lessons from his friend Heinz Schorlin, and he may improve.  Yes, the Swiss knight!  He would be the man for me, spite of your involuntary meeting with him and your devout sister, for whom he forgot every one else, and me also, in the dancing hall.  O Jungfrau Els, I have the hunter’s eyes, which are keen-sighted!  For his sake your beautiful Eva, with her saintly gaze, might easily forget to pray.  It was not you, but she, who drew him to-night to your house.  Had this thought entered my head downstairs in the entry I should probably, to be honest, have omitted my little fairy tale and let matters take their course.  St. Clare ought to have protected her future votary.  Besides, it pleases the arrogant little lady to show me as plainly as possible, on every occasion, that I am a horror to her.  Let those who will accept such insults.  My Christianity does not go far enough to offer her the right cheek too.  And shall I tell you something?  To spoil her game, I should be capable, in spite of all the life preservers in the world, of binding Schorlin to me in good earnest.”

“Do not!” pleaded Els, raising her clasped hands beseechingly, and added, as if in explanation:  “For the noble Boemund Altrosen’s sake, do not.”

“To promise that, my darling, is beyond my power,” replied Cordula coolly, “because I myself do not know what I may do or leave undone tomorrow or the day after.  I am like a beech leaf on the stream.  Let us see where the current will carry it.  It is certain,” and she looked at her bandaged hands, “that my greatest beauty, my round arms, are disfigured.  Scars adorn a man; on a woman they are ugly and repulsive.  At a dance they can be hidden under tight sleeves, but how hot that would be in the ‘Schwabeln’ and ‘Rai’!  So I had better keep away from these foolish gaieties in future.  A calf turns a countess out of a ballroom!  What do you think of that?  New things often happen.”

Here she was interrupted; the housekeeper called Els.  Sir Seitz Siebenburg, spite of the untimely hour, had come to speak to her about an important matter.  Her father had gone to rest and sleep.  The knight also enquired sympathisingly about Countess von Montfort and presented his respects.

“Of which I can make no use!” cried Cordula angrily.  “Tell him so, Martsche.”

As the housekeeper withdrew she exclaimed impatiently:  “How it burns!  The heat would be enough to convert the rescued calf into an appetising roast.  I wish I could sleep off the pain of my foolish prank!  The sunlight is beginning to be troublesome.  I cannot bear it; it is blinding.  Draw the curtain over the window.”