“Ernst Ortlieb, spite of his trade, is a man of knightly lineage, to whom the king of arms opens the lists at every tournament!” exclaimed Heinz indignantly.

“In the combat with blunt weapons,” replied Biberli contemptuously.

“Nay, for the jousts and single combat,” cried Heinz excitedly.  “The Emperor Frederick himself dubbed Herr Ernst a knight.”

“You know best,” replied Biberli modestly.  But his coat of arms, like his entry, smells of cloves and pepper.  Here is another, however, who, like your first ancestress, has a countess’s title, and who has a right—­My name isn’t Biberli if your lady mother at home would not be more than happy were I to inform her that the Countess von Montfort and the darling of her heart, which you are: 

“The name of Montfort and what goes with it,” Heinz interrupted, “would surely please those at home.  But the rest!  Where could a girl be found who, setting aside Cordula’s kind heart, would be so great a contrast to my mother in every respect?”

“Stormy mornings merge into quiet days,” said the servant.  “Everything depends, my lord, upon the heart of which you speak so slightingly—­the heart and, even above that, upon the blood.  ‘Help is needed there,’ cried the kind heart just now, and then the blood did its ‘devoir’.  The act followed the desire as the sound follows the blow of the hammer, the thunder the flash of lightning.  Well for the castle that is ruled by such a mistress!  I am only the servant, and respect commands me to curb my tongue; but to-day I had news from home through the Provost Werner, of Lucerne, whom I knew at Stansstadt.  I meant to tell you of it over the wine at the Thirsty Troopers, but that accursed note and the misfortune which followed prevented.  It will not make either of us more cheerful, but whoever is ordered by the leech to drink gall and wormwood does wisely to swallow the dose at one gulp.  Do you wish to empty the cup now?”

The knight nodded assent, and Biberli went on.  “Home affairs are not going as they ought.  Though your uncle’s hair is already grey, the knightly blood in his veins makes him grasp the sword too quickly.  The quarrel about the bridge-toll has broken out again more violently than ever.  The townsfolk drove off our cattle as security and, by way of punishment, your uncle seized the goods of their merchants, and they came to blows.  True, the Schorlin retainers forced back the men from town with bloody heads, but if the feud lasts much longer we cannot hold out, for the others have the money, and since the war cry has sounded less frequently there has been no lack of men at arms who will serve any one who pays.  Besides, the townsfolk can appeal to the treaty of peace, and if your uncle continues to seize the merchant’s wares they will apply to the imperial magistrate, and then: 

“Then,” cried Heinz eagerly, “then the time will have come for me to leave the court and return home to look after my rights.”