To this he replied, however:  “Here, in my own land, I would like better to sing in my own tongue, by your gracious leave, fair mistress.”

Then bowing to Ursula and to me, without even casting a glance at Ann, he went on to say:  “And seeing that methinks you love madrigals, I will sing a Franconian ditty after the Junker’s Brandenburg ballad.”

He boldly struck the strings, and the little birds, which by this time had gone to rest in the linden-tree, again uplifted their little heads, and all that had ears and soul, near and far, Ann not the least, hearkened as he began with his clear voice and noble skill.

          “To all this goodly company
          I sing as best I may,
          A madrigal of ladies fair
          And damsels soote and gay. 
          Through many countries great and small
          I roam, and ladies fair I see
          Many! but fairest of them all
          The maidens of my own countree. 
          The maidens of Franconia
          I ever love to meet,
          They dwell in fond remembrance
          A vision ever sweet. 
          Of maids they are the crown and pearl! 
          And if I might but spin them
          I would make the spindle whirl!”

My lord duke clapped hearty praise of the singer, and we all did the same; all save Junker Henning, who had not failed to mark that Herdegen had striven to out-do his modest warble, and likewise the ardent eyes he turned on the lady of his choice.  Hence he moved not.  Ann clapped her hands but lightly, sat looking into her lap, and for some time could say not a word; indeed, if she had trusted herself to speak the game would of a certainty have been lost.

The knight of Eberstein it was, who ere long, albeit unwittingly, came to her aid; he challenged Ursula to give us a song in thanks to Junker Herdegen’s praise of the maids of Franconia.

The damsel thought to do somewhat fine by making choice, instead of a German song, of a French lay by the Sieur de Machault “J’aim la flour,” which was well known to all of us by reason that she had learnt it from old Veit Spiesz, Ann’s grandfather; and she had no need to fear to uplift her voice, inasmuch as it was strong and as clear as a bell.  But she sang over-loud and with a mode of speech which made Herdegen smile, and I can see her now as she stood upright in her fine yellow and purple garb, singing the light-tripping ditty,

“J’aim la flour
De valour
Sans falour
Et l’aour
Nuit et jour.”

with all her might, as though stirring them to battle.  The folly of so wrong-headed a fashion of singing such words was plain to Ann, in whose very blood, as it were, lay all that was most choice in musical feeling, and Herdegen’s smile brought her a calmer mind again.  When, presently, Ursula, believing that she had done somewhat marvellous, boldly turned upon Ann and besought her to sing—­as though there had never been a breach between the twain—­Ann refused, as not caring but yet firm in her mind.  Then the Duke, who was even yet a fine singer and bore in mind how Ursula had demeaned herself towards Ann at the great dance, desired to have the lute and sang the song as follows: