Heinz sprang towards Biberli to snatch the sword from his hand, but he held it firmly, seeking his master’s eyes with a look of warning entreaty; but his faithful solicitude would have been futile had not the monk lent his aid.  The old man’s whispered exhortation to his young friend to spare the imperial master, to whom he was so deeply indebted, a fresh sorrow, restored to the infuriated young knight his power of self-control.  Pushing the thick locks back from his brow with a hasty movement, he answered in a tone of the most intense contempt: 

“Do what you will, but remember this:  Beware that, ere the joust begins, you do not ride the rail instead of the charger.  The maidens whose pure name you so yearn to sully are of noble birth, and if they appear to complain of you——­”

“Then I will proclaim the truth,” Siebenburg retorted, “and the Court of Love and Pursuivant at Arms will deprive you, the base seducer, of the right to enter the lists rather than me, my handsome knight!”

“So be it,” replied Heinz quietly.  “You can discuss the other points with my herald.  Wolff Eysvogel, too—­rely upon it—­will challenge you, if you fulfil your base design.”

Then, turning his back upon Seitz without a word of farewell, he motioned the monk towards the open door of the antechamber, and letting him lead the way, closed it behind them.

“He will come to you, you boaster!” Siebenburg shouted contemptuously after the Swiss, and then turned to Biberli and the maid with a patronising question; but the former, without even opening his lips in reply, hastened to the door and, with a significant gesture, induced the knight to retire.

Seitz submitted and hastened down the stairs, his eyes flashing as if he had won a great victory.  At the door of the house he grasped the hilt of his sword, and then, with rapid movements, twisted the ends of his mustache.  The surprise he had given the insolent Swiss by the discovery of his love messenger—­it had acted like a spell—­could not have succeeded better.  And what had Schorlin alleged in justification?  Nothing, absolutely nothing at all.  Wolff Eysvogel’s herald should challenge the Swiss, not him, who meant to open the deceived lover’s eyes concerning his betrothed bride.

He eagerly anticipated the joust and the sword combat with Heinz.  The sharper the herald’s conditions the better.  He had hurled more powerful foes than the Swiss from the saddle, and from knightly “courtoisie” not even used his strength without consideration.  Heinz Schorlin should feel it.

He gazed around him like a victor, and throwing his head back haughtily he went down the Bindergasse, this time past the Franciscan monastery towards the Town Hall and the fish market.  Eber, the sword cutler, lived there and, spite of the large sum he owed him, Seitz wished to talk with him about the sharp weapons he needed for the joust.  On his way he gave his imagination free course.  It showed him his impetuous onset, his enemy’s fall in the sand, the sword combat, and the end of the joust, the swift death of his hated foe.