The Eletto was at liberty to choose his own quarters, and there was no lack of stately dwellings in Aalst.  Ulrich might have been tempted to occupy the palace of Baron de Hierges, but passed it by, selecting as a home for his mother and himself a pretty little house on the market-place, which reminded him of his father’s smithy.  The bow-windowed room, with the view of the belfry and the stately guildhall, was pleasantly fitted up for his mother, and the city gardeners received orders to send the finest house-plants to his residence.  Soon the sitting-room, adorned with flowers and enlivened by singing-birds, looked far handsomer and more cosy than the nest of which he had dreamed.  A little white dog, exactly like the one Florette had possessed in the smithy, was also procured, and when in the evening the warm summer air floated into the open windows, and Ulrich sat alone with Florette, recalling memories of the past, or making plans for the future, it seemed as if a new spring had come to his soul.  The citizens’ distress did not trouble him.  They were the losing party in the grim game of war, enemies—­rebels.  Among his own men he saw nothing but joyous faces; he exercised the power—­they obeyed.

Zorrillo bore him ill-will, Ulrich read it in his eyes; but he made him a captain, and the man performed his duty as quartermaster in the most exemplary manner.  Florette wished to tell him that the Eletto was her son, but the latter begged her to wait till his power was more firmly established, and how could she refuse her darling anything?  She had grieved deeply, very deeply, but this mood soon passed away, and now she could be happy in Ulrich’s society, and forget sorrow and heartache.

What joy it was to have him back, to be loved by him!  Where was there a more affectionate son, a pleasanter home than hers?  The velvet and brocade dresses belonging to the Baroness de Hierges had fallen to the Eletto.  How young Florette looked in them!  When she glanced into the mirror, she was astonished at herself.

Two beautiful riding-horses for ladies’ use and elegant trappings had been found in the baron’s stable.  Ulrich had told her of it, and the desire to ride with him instantly arose in her mind.  She had always accompanied Grandgagnage, and when she now went out, attired in a long velvet riding-habit, with floating plumes in her dainty little hat, beside her son, she soon noticed how admiringly even the hostile citizens and their wives looked after them.  It was a pretty sight to behold the handsome soldier, full of pride and power, galloping on the most spirited stallion, beside the beautiful, white-haired woman, whose eyes sparkled with vivacious light.

Zorrillo often met them, when they passed the guildhall, and Florette always gave him a friendly greeting with her whip, but he intentionally averted his eyes or if he could not avoid it, coldly returned her recognition.

This wounded her deeply, and when alone, it often happened that she sunk into gloomy reverie and, with an aged, weary face, gazed fixedly at the floor.  But Ulrich’s approach quickly cheered and rejuvenated her.