"So, so!" he said; "I know now that I look whole and sound enough. Henceforth, I resign Dorothy Brushbroom to you, Longlegs: you, also, shall know what it is to be taken care of."
"I trust you may find the distinguished ladies as interested about your person as she has been, my gracious master," replied the jester; "but, since you seldom go so near them that they can see you, you should take my jingling-jacket, that they may hear you in the distance."
"There! you hear, Drost Peter, what I must digest, and give the clown food and wages for, merely to exercise me in Christian humbleness and patience. You are right, Longlegs. I am a little too sheepish on certain occasions; but that is a virtue your losel should respect, and apply himself to. To-night you shall see otherwise, and that I shall do you honour, Longlegs," continued the count, gaily: "I have not had such courage to talk with the ladies for a long time. Your nurse can bear witness, sir drost, that it is a falsehood and a slander, when foul tongues say I lose heart and speech with the ladies."
"No one shall say so of you any longer, gracious sir. I was shamefully unjust," replied Longlegs, bowing. "If I could not hear you snore, for some nights past, as I would have given much to have done, I had, nevertheless, at times, the pleasure of hearing your most gracious growlings; and, for these, I thanked the Holy Virgin. They are, at all times, a sure sign of life. Now, therefore, if you should like to cudgel me for your amusement, gracious master, you must stop at home."
Without listening farther to his jester, the count set out with his knight and Drost Peter. In his impatience to reach old Sir John's abode, he hurried on so fast, that his attentive host held him back, to remind him that such haste was dangerous to him. But the count suddenly slackened his pace, as soon as he perceived the magnificently illuminated building, where, under the linden trees, at the foot of the grand staircase, stood two rows of the royal household servants, with lighted torches.
"I am also to see the young princes to-night," he said. "Your pupil, the young heir to the throne, should be like his mother. You are a happy man, Drost Peter, who can train and bring up such a noble shoot."
"I fully acknowledge it," replied Drost Peter, with ardour. "I hope he shall become a worthy descendant of Waldemar Seier, his illustrious ancestor, whose chivalrous manner of thinking, and regard for truth and justice, I believe he already inherits. With God's help, he will do honour to his race."
"But is the mother really there, too, in the house of a simple knight?"
"A simple knight!" repeated Drost Peter, somewhat offended. "Old Sir John is a son's son of Esbern Snaré's daughter: he numbers the great Absalom in his race. But were he even a simple knight, without distinguished birth, he is still a man of such merit, that the king and queen need not be ashamed of being his guests. Both his wife and daughter are the queen's dearest friends."
"Sooth to say, my good friend," observed Count Gerhard, in a half whisper, and drawing Drost Peter aside, "you give quality a good day; but I am almost ashamed to show myself before the queen. I only saw her at that devil's tourney at Helsingborg, where you took the prize from me, and I could not say a single word to her from sheer bashfulness. Among men, I have not the reputation of sheepishness; and, when I walk before the eyes of kings and emperors, I feel myself to be as good as they: but, plague on it! all my confidence vanishes when I want to express myself gracefully before the fair ones."