flames soon reached it also.  Neither the nuns nor the men had thought of driving the cattle out.  Poor city cattle!  In the country the animals have more friendly care.  When the work of rescue was at last commenced the cows naturally refused to leave their old home.  Some prudent person had torn the door off the hinges that they might not stifle.  Just in front of it stood a pretty red cow with a white star on her face.  A calf was by her side, and the mother had already sunk on her knees and was licking it in mortal terror.  I pitied the poor thing, and as Boemund Altrosen, the black-haired knight who entered your house with the rest after the ride to Kadolzburg, had just come there, I told him to save the calf.  Of course he obeyed my wish, and as it struggled he dragged it out of the stable with his strong arms.  The building was already blazing, and the thatched roof threatened to fall in.  Just at that moment the old cow looked at me so piteously and uttered such a mournful bellow that it touched me to the heart.  My eyes rested on the calf, and a voice within whispered that it would be motherless, like me, and miss during the first part of its life God’s best gift.  But since, as you have heard, I act before I think, I went myself—­I no longer know how—­into the burning stable.  It was hard to breathe in the dense smoke, and fiery sparks scorched my shawl and my hair, but I was conscious of one thought:  You must save the helpless little creature’s mother!  So I called and lured her, as I do at home, where all the cows are fond of me, but it was useless; and just as I perceived this the thatched roof fell in, and I should probably have perished had not Altrosen this time carried my own by no means light figure out of the stable instead of the calf.”

“And you?” asked Els eagerly.

“I submitted,” replied the countess.

“No, no,” urged Els.  “Your heart throbbed faster with grateful joy, for you saw the desire of your soul fulfilled.  A hunter, and one of the noblest of them all, risked his life in the pursuit of your love.  O Countess Cordula, I remember that knight well, and if the dark-blue sleeve which he wore on his helm in the tournament was yours—­”

“I believe it was,” Cordula interrupted indifferently.  “But, what was of more importance, when I opened my eyes again the cow was standing outside, licking her recovered calf.”

“And the knight?” asked Els.  “Whoever so heroically risks his life for his lady’s wish should be sure of her gratitude.”

“Boemund can rely on that,” said Cordula positively.  “At least, what he did this time for my sake weighs more heavily in the scale than the lances he has broken, his love songs, or the mute language of his longing eyes.  Those are shafts which do not pierce my heart.  How reproachfully you look at me!  Let him take lessons from his friend Heinz Schorlin, and he may improve.  Yes, the Swiss knight!  He would be the man for me,