Heinz stamped his foot on the floor and, half frantic, impetuously exclaimed, his blood boiling with honest indignation:  “May the air he breathes destroy the slandering scoundrel!  May I be flayed on the rack if——­”

Here he was interrupted by a low exclamation of warning from the Minorite, who perceived in the knight’s fierce oaths a lamentable relapse.  Heinz himself felt ashamed of the ungodly imprecations; yet he could by no means succeed in regaining his former composure as, drawing a long breath, he continued:  “And those city hypocrites, who call themselves Christians, and build costly cathedrals for the good of their souls, are not ashamed—­yes, holy Father, it is true—­basely to deny our Lord and Saviour, who is Love itself, and deemed even the Magdalen worthy of His mercy, and rub their hands in fiendish malignity when unpunished they can sully the white robe of innocence, and drag pious, lovely simplicity to the pillory.”

“That is the very reason, my son,” the monk interrupted soothingly, “that we disciples of the Saint of Assisi go forth to show the deluded what the Lord requires of them.  Therefore leave behind you the dust of the world, which defiles both body and soul, join us, who did so before you, and help, as one of our order, to make those who are perishing in sin and dishonouring the name of Christ better and purer, genuine Christians.  In this hour of stress lay the sword out of your hand, and leave the steed——­”

“I shall ride forth, rely upon it, holy Father,” Heinz burst forth afresh.  “With the sky-blue of the gracious Virgin, whom I love, on my shield and helmet, I will dash like the angel Michael amongst the Siebenburgs and their followers.  And let me tell you, holy Father—­you who were once a knight also—­if the Mustache, weltering in his blood at my feet, prays for mercy, I’ll teach him——­”

“Son! son!” interrupted the monk again, this time raising his hands imploringly; but Heinz, paying no heed, exclaimed hoarsely: 

“Where did you get this news?”

“From our Berne countryman at the fortress,” replied the servant eagerly; “Brandenstein, Schweppermann, and Heidenab brought the tidings.  The Emperor received them at the gate of the citadel, where he was keeping watch ere he mounted his steed.  He heard him call to the messengers, ‘So our Heinz Schorlin will have a hard nut to crack.’”

“Which he will crush after his own heart!” cried Heinz, with flashing eyes.

Then, forcing himself to be calm, he exclaimed in broken sentences, whilst Biberli was helping him put on his armour:  “Your wish, reverend Father, is also mine.  The world—­the sooner I can rid myself of it the better; yet what you describe in the most alluring terms is the peace in your midst, I—­I—­Never, never will my heart be calm until——­”