“Gently, my little Wolf, gently,” she interposed soothingly.  “If I am right, you mounted our narrow stairs to seek a wife and, when my father returns, you will ask for my hand.”

“That I will,” the young knight declared with eager positiveness.  “Your ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ Wawerl, is to me the decree of Fate, to which even the gods submit without opposition.”

“Indeed?” she answered, uttering the word slowly, with downcast eyes.  Then suddenly drawing herself to her full height, she added with a graver manner than he had ever seen her wear:  “It is fortunate that I have learned the stories of the gods which are so popular in the Netherlands.  If any one else should come to me with such pretences, I would scarcely believe that he had honest intentions.  You are in earnest, Wolf, and wish to make me your wife.  But ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ can not be spoken as quickly as you probably imagine.  You were always a good, faithful fellow, and I am sincerely attached to you.  But have I even the slightest knowledge of what you obtained abroad or what awaits you here?”

“Wawerl!” he interrupted reproachfully.  “Would I as an honest man seek your hand if I had not made money enough to support a wife whose expectations were not too extravagant?  You can not reasonably doubt that, and now, when the most sacred of bonds is in question, it ought—­”

“It ought, you think, to satisfy me?” she interrupted with confident superiority.  “But one of two things must follow this sacred bond-happiness or misery in the earthly life which is entered from the church steps.  I am tired of the miserable starving and struggling, my dear Wolf.  Marriage must at least rid me of these gloomy spectres.  My father will not let you leave soon the good wine he allows himself and you to enjoy—­you know that.  Tell him how you are situated at the court, and what prospects, you have here in Ratisbon or elsewhere; for instance, I would gladly go to the magnificent Netherlands with my husband.  Inform yourself better, too, of the amount of your inheritance.  The old man will take me into his confidence early to-morrow morning.  But I will confess this to you now:  The most welcome husband to me would be a zealous and skilful disciple of music, and I know that wish will be fulfilled with you.  If, perhaps, you are already what I call a successful man, we will see.  But—­I have learned that—­no happiness will thrive on bread and water, and even a modest competence, as it is called, won’t do for me.”

“But Wawerl,” he interrupted dejectedly, “what could be better than true, loyal love?  Just hear what I was going to tell you, and have not yet reached.”

But Barbara would not listen, cutting his explanation short with the words: