The knight, unheeding the angry, upbraiding woman, hastened in pursuit of his wife to throw himself at her feet and confess the whole truth; but she, who had heard long before that Sir Seitz was paying Countess Cordula more conspicuous attention than beseemed a faithful husband, and who, after the happy hour so recently experienced, had expected, until the arrival of the page, the dawn of brighter, better days, now felt doubly abased, deceived, betrayed.

Without vouchsafing the unfortunate man even a glance or a word, she entered the nursery before he reached her; but he, feeling that he must follow her at any cost, laid his hand on the lock of the door and tried to open it.  The strong oak resisted his shaking and pulling.  Isabella had shot the heavy iron bolt into its place.  Seitz first knocked with his fingers and then with his clenched fist, until the grandmother exclaimed:  “You have destroyed the house, at least spare the doors.”

Uttering a fierce imprecation, he went to his own chamber, hastily thrust into his pockets all the gold and valuables which he possessed, and then went out again into the street.  His way led him past Kuni, the flower girl from whom he had bought the roses.  The beggar who was to carry them to his wife did not hear distinctly, on account of her bandaged head, and not understanding the knight, went to the girl from whom she had seen him purchase the blossoms to ask where they belonged.  Kuni pointed to the lodgings of the von Montforts, where she had already sent so many bouquets for Siebenburg.  The latter saw both the flower-seller and the beggar woman, but did not attempt to learn how the roses which he intended for his wife had reached Countess Cordula.  He suspected the truth, but felt no desire to have it confirmed.  Fate meant to destroy him, he had learned that.  The means employed mattered little.  It would have been folly to strive against the superior power of such an adversary.  Let ruin pursue its course.  His sole wish was to forget his misery, though but for a brief time.  He knew he could accomplish this by drink, so he entered the Mirror wine tavern and drained bumper after bumper with a speed which made the landlord, though he was accustomed to marvellous performances on the part of his guests, shake the head set on his immensely thick neck somewhat suspiciously.

The few persons present had gathered in a group and were talking sadly about the great misfortune which had assailed the Emperor.  The universal grief displayed so hypocritically, as Seitz thought, angered him, and he gazed at them with such a sullen, threatening look that no one ventured to approach him.  Sometimes he stared into his wine, sometimes into vacancy, sometimes at the vaulted ceiling above.  He harshly rebuffed the landlord and the waiter who tried to accost him, but when the peasant’s prediction was fulfilled and the thunderstorm of the preceding night was followed at midnight by one equally severe, he arose and left the hostelry.  The rain tempted him into the open air.  The taproom was so sultry, so terribly sultry.  The moisture of the heavens would refresh him.