Again Heinz shuddered.  He had seen the unfortunate young man the day before yesterday at the fencing school, and yesterday, full of overflowing mirth, at the dance, and knew that he, too, had fought in the battle of Marchfield.  His foe must have been master of the art of wielding the sword, for the dead man had been a skilful fencer, and was tall and stalwart in figure.

When the servant ended his story Heinz stood still in the darkness for a time, silently listening.  The bells had begun to ring, the blast of the watchman’s horn blended with the wailing notes summoning aid, and in two places—­near the Thiergartenthor and the Frauenthor—­the sky was crimsoned by the reflection of a conflagration, probably kindled by some flash of lightning, which flickered over the clouds, alternately rising and falling, sometimes deeper and anon paler in hue.  Throngs of people, shouting “Fire!” pressed from the cross streets into the square.  The stillness of the night was over.

When Heinz again turned to Biberli he said in a hollow tone: 

“If the earth should swallow up Nuremberg tonight it would not surprise me.  But over yonder—­look, Biber, the Duke of Pomerania’s quarters in the Green Shield are still lighted.  I’ll wager that they are yet at the gaming table.  A plague upon it!  I would be there, too, if my purse allowed.  I feel as if yonder dead man and his coffin were burdening my soul.  If it was really good fortune in love that snatched the zecchins from my purse yesterday: 

“Then,” cried Biberli eagerly, “to-night is the very time, ere Countess Cordula teaches you to forget what troubles you, to win them back.  The gold for the first stake is at your disposal.”

“From the Duke of Pomerania, you think?” asked Heinz; then, in a quick, resolute tone, added:  “No!  Often as the duke has offered me his purse, I never borrow from my peers when the prospect of repayment looks so uncertain.”

“Gently, my lord,” returned Biberli, slapping his belt importantly.  “Here is what you need for the stake as your own property.  No miracles have been wrought for us, only I forgot But look!  There are the black clouds rolling northward over the castle.  That was a frightful storm!  But a spendthrift doesn’t keep house long-and the thunder has not yet followed that last flash of lightning.  There is plenty of uproar without it.  It’s hard work to hear one’s self speak amid all the ringing, trumpeting, yelling, and shrieking.  It seems as if they expected to put out the fire with noise.  The fathers of the city can attend to that.  It doesn’t appear to disturb the duke and his guests at their dice; and here, my lord, are fifty florins which, I think, will do for the beginning.”

Biberli handed the knight a little bag containing this sum, and when Heinz asked in perplexity where he obtained it, the ex-schoolmaster answered gaily:  “They came just in the nick of time.  I received them from Suss, the jockey, while you were out riding this afternoon.”