“A single arm, no matter how strong it may be, can avail nothing there, my lord,” Biberli protested earnestly.  “Your Uncle Ramsweg has scarcely his peer as a leader, but even were it not so you could not bring yourself to send the old man home and put yourself in his place.  Besides, it would be as unwise as it is unjust.  What is lacking at home is money to pay the town what it demands for the use of the bridge, or to increase the number of your men, and therefore: 

“Well?” asked Heinz eagerly.

“Therefore seek the Countess von Montfort, who favours you above every one else,” was the reply; “for with her all you need will be yours without effort.  Her dowry will suffice to settle twenty such bridge dues, and if it should come to a fray, the brave huntress will ride to the field at your side with helmet and spear.  Which of the four Fs did Countess Cordula von Montfort ever lack?”

“The four Fs?” asked Heinz, listening intently.  “The Fs,” explained the ex-pedagogue, “are the four letters which marriageable knights should consider.  They are:  Family, figure, favour, and fortune.  But hold your cap on!  What a hot blast this is, as if the storm were coming straight from the jaws of hell.  And the dust!  Where did all these withered leaves come from in the month of June?  They are whirling about as if the foliage had already fallen.  There are big raindrops driving into my face too B-r-r!  You need all four Fs.  No rain will wash a single one of them away, and I hope it won’t efface the least word of my speech either.  What, according to human foresight, could be lacking to secure the fairest happiness, if you and the countess—­”

“Love,” replied Heinz Schorlin curtly.

“That will come of itself,” cried Biberli, as if sure of what he was saying, “if the bride is Countess Cordula.”

“Possibly,” answered the knight, “but the heart must not be filled by another’s image.”

Here he paused, for in the darkness he had stumbled into the ditch by the road.

The whirlwind which preceded the bursting of the storm blew such clouds of dust and everything it contained into their faces that it was difficult to advance.  But Biberli was glad, for he had not yet found a fitting answer.  He struggled silently on beside his master against the wind, until it suddenly subsided, and a violent storm of rain streamed in big warm drops on the thirsty earth and the belated pedestrians.  Then, spite of Heinz’s protestations, Biberli hurriedly snatched the long robe embroidered with the St from his shoulders and threw it over his master, declaring that his shirt was as safe from injury as his skin, but the rain would ruin the knight’s delicate embroidered doublet.