Hereupon my cousin broke in with a scornful laugh, such as I could never have looked to hear from her, with her kind and single heart; and my brother told Ursula shortly and plainly that with her he had no more to do.  To this she made answer that it would be a sin to doubt that, inasmuch as he was now a pious pilgrim and honorably betrothed, nevertheless she craved to see Ann.  That, too, was denied her, and she did but shrug her shoulders; then she turned to the Bohemian, who had gone towards her, and asked him with icy politeness to remove from her presence, inasmuch as he was an offence to her.  Hereupon I saw the last drop of red blood fade away from the young Knight’s sickly cheek, and it went to my heart to see him uplift his hands and implore her right humbly:  “You know, Ursula, all that hath befallen me for your sake, and how hard a lot awaits me.  Three times have I been plighted to you, my promised bride, and as many times cast off....”

“To spare you the like fate a fourth time; all good things being in threes!” she put in, mocking him.  “Verily you have cured me of any desire ever to be your Dame, Sir Knight.  And since meseems this day our speech is free and truthful, I am fain to confess that such a wish was ever far enough from me, and even when we stood betrothed.  A strange thing is love!  ‘Here’s to fair Margery!’ one day, on every noble gentleman’s lips; and on the morrow:  ‘Here’s to sweet Ursula!’ In some folks it grows inwardly, as it were a polypus, and of such, woe is me, am I. My love, if you would know the truth, my lord Baron von Welemisl, love such I have known I gave once for all to that man Herdegen Schopper; it has been his from the time when, in my short little skirts, I learnt to write; and so it has ever been, till the hour when worthy Dame Henneleinlein, the noble Junker’s new cousin—­it is enough to make one die of laughing!—­when that illustrious lady whispered the truth in my ear that her intending kinsman had thrown me over, and, with me, old Im Hoff’s wealth, for the sake of a scrivener’s wench.  And to think that as a boy he was wont to bring me posies, and wear my colors!  Nay, and since that time he has shot many a fiery glance at me.  Only lately he wrote to his uncle from Paris that he was minded to make me his wife.  Ah, you may open your eyes wide, most respected every-one’s-cousin Maud, and you likewise, prim and spotless Mistress Margery!  Cross yourselves in the name of all the Saints!  A dead wolf cannot bite, and as for my love for that man, I may boldly declare that it is dead and buried.  But mark me,” and she clapped her hand to her heaving bosom, “mark me, somewhat else hath made entrance here, with drums and trumpets and high jubilee:  Hate!  —­I hate you, Herdegen, as I hate death, pestilence, and hell; and I hate you twice as much since your skill with the rapier brought the combat with the Brandenburger, into which I entrapped you, to so perverse an end.”