As Heinz uttered the last words he pointed to the door, and this indiscreet, anything but inviting gesture robbed Siebenburg of the last remnant of composure maintained with so much difficulty.

Nothing is more infuriating to weak natures than to have others expect them to pursue a course opposite to that which, after a victory over baser impulses, they have recognised as the right one and intended to follow.  He who had come to resign his lost property voluntarily was regarded by the Swiss as an importunate mendicant; he who stood here to prove that he was perfectly justified in accusing Els Ortlieb of a crime, Schorlin expected to make a revocation against his better knowledge.  And what price did the insolent fellow demand for the restored estate and the right to brand him as a slanderer?  The pleasure of seeing the unwelcome guest retire as quickly as possible.  No greater degree of contempt and offensive presumption could be imagined, and as Seitz set his own admirable conduct during the past few hours far above the profligate behaviour of the Swiss, he was fired with honest indignation and, far from heeding the white robe and altered countenance of his enemy, gave the reins to his wrath.

Pale with fury, he flung, as it were, the estate the Swiss had won from him at his feet, amid no lack of insulting words.

At first Heinz listened to the luckless gambler’s outbreak of rage in silent amazement, but when the latter began to threaten, and even clapped his hand on his sword, the composure which never failed him in the presence of anything that resembled danger quickly returned.

He had felt a strong aversion to Siebenburg from their first meeting, and the slanderous words with which he had dragged in the dust the good name of a maiden who, Heinz knew, had incurred suspicion solely through his fault, had filled him with scorn.  So, with quiet contempt, he let him rave on; but when the person to whom he had just been talking—­the old Minorite monk whom he had met on the highroad and accompanied to Nuremberg—­appeared at the door of the next room, he stopped Seitz with a firm “Enough!” pointed to the old man, and in brief, simple words, gave the castle and lands of Tannenreuth to the monastery of the mendicant friars of the Franciscan order in Nuremberg.

Siebenburg listened with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, then he said bitterly:  “I thought that a life of poverty was the chief rule in the order of St. Francis.  But no matter!  May the gift won at the gaming table profit the holy Brothers.  For you, Sir Knight, it will gain the favour of the Saint of Assisi, whose power is renowned.  So you have acted wisely.”

Here he hesitated; he felt choked with rage.  But while the Minorite was thanking Heinz for the generous gift, Siebenburg’s eyes again rested on the curtain behind which the maid was concealed.

It was now his turn to deal the Swiss a blow.  The old mendicant friar was a venerable person whose bearing commanded respect, and Heinz seemed to value his good opinion.  For that very reason the Minorite should learn the character of this patron of his order.