Katterle had met him for the first time more than three years before when, after the battle of Marchfield, he remained several weeks in Nuremberg.  They had sat side by side at a tournament, and, recognising each other as Swiss-born by the sharp sound of the letters “ch” and the pronunciation of other words, were mutually attracted.

Katterle had a kind heart; yet at that time she almost yielded to the temptation to pray Heaven not to hasten the cure of a brave man’s wounds too quickly, for she knew that Biberli was a squire in the service of the young Swiss knight Heinz Schorlin, whose name was on every lip because, in spite of his youth, he had distinguished himself at the battle of Marchfield by his rare bravery, and that the young hero would remain in Nuremberg only until his severe injuries were completely healed.  His departure would bring to her separation from his servant, and sometimes when homesickness tortured her she thought she would be unable to survive the parting.  Meanwhile Biberli nursed his master with faithful zeal, as if nothing bound him to Nuremberg, and even after his departure Katterle remained in good health.

Now she had him again.  Directly after the Emperor Rudolph’s entrance, five days before, Biberli had come openly to the Ortlieb house and presented himself to Martsche,—­[Margaret]—­the old house keeper, as the countryman and friend of the waiting maid, who had brought her a message from home.

True, it had been impossible to say anything confidential either in the crowded kitchen or in the servants’ hall.  To-night’s meeting was to afford the opportunity.

The menservants, carrying sedan chairs and torches, had all gone out with their master, who had taken his younger daughter, Eva, to the dance.  They were to wait in front of the Town Hall, because it was doubtful whether the daughter of the house, who had been very reluctant to go to the entertainment, might not urge an early departure.  Count von Montfort, whose quarters were in the Ortlieb mansion, and his whole train of male attendants, certainly would not come back till very late at night or even early morning, for the Countess Cordula remained at a ball till the close, and her father lingered over the wine cup till his daughter called him from the revellers.

All this warranted the lovers in hoping for an undisturbed interview.  The place of meeting was well chosen.  It was unsatisfactory only to the moon for, after Biberli had closed the heavy door of the house behind him, Luna found no chink or crevice through which a gliding ray might have watched what the true and steadfast Biberli was saying to Katterle.  There was one little window beside the door, but it was closed, and the opening was covered with sheepskin.  So the moon’s curiosity was not gratified.

Instead of her silver rays, the long entry of the Ortlieb house, with its lofty ceiling, was illumined only by the light of three lanterns, which struggled dimly through horn panes.  The shining dots in a dark corner of the spacious corridor were the eyes of a black cat, watching there for rats and mice.