"So the princess took the scribe on her shoulders," the knight went on, making no reply to the dame's interjection, "and carried him across the court to his own window, so that only her tracks would appear in the snow."
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" ejaculated Lady Adelaide, for the third time. "Is it thus that they do at court? And what said her father when he was told that she had been with the scribe Eginhard?"
"As fate would have it," the count answered, pulling at the long silky ears of the hound which lay at his side, "the king himself had been that morn troubled in his sleep, and had risen to stand by the window looking out at the newly fallen snow before that the court was astir to besmirch it with their footsteps; and with his own eyes he saw his daughter carry her lover across the place."
"What did he?" asked Erna, raising her eyes from her embroidery for the first time since the tale began.
"Oh, he doubtless cursed for a little, and then he remembered himself, like the wise man that he is, that it were well not to make a bad matter worse, and that love is free and not to be constrained even by the bidding of a king."
He looked into her eyes as he answered thus, and so significant a glance accompanied his last words that hers fell before it. She flushed and once more fixed her attention upon her embroidery, while Count Stephen went on to relate how Charlemagne had told the tale before the whole court to the shaming of the offenders, and had then forgiven them and had them married out of hand.
Then, when he had replied to the questions of Lady Adelaide, who found this gossip a most savory morsel under her tongue, he suddenly caught up a lute that lay near him upon the cushioned window-ledge, and running his fingers across the strings with a swift rattling of tinkling notes, sang not unmusically this song:
"The bird flies jocund through the sky,
And sports in upper air,
Only too soon fluttering to lie,
Caught in the fowler's snare,
The wind constrains the forest tall,
The tempest rules the sea;
The mighty hold the weak in thrall;
And only love is free.
"Nor bonds, nor bars, nor word of hate,
Can love's sweet will control;
Or quench the flame resistless fate
Hath kindled in the soul.
The mind may bow to slavish law,
As kings in chains may be;
Reason to wisdom bend in awe;
Yet still will love be free.
"What's plighted troth or formal vow,
When hearts are turned to fire?
As chaff on tempests blown, I trow,
Such bonds before desire!
Let whosoever come between,
To part my dear and me,
I'd beat down all to reach my queen,
And make our loving free!"