"You weep, then, here?" said the chevalier, with visible interest; "for here you do in all things like Jesus?"
Matthew, (humbly.) At least, we desire to. Our pious lord—
Theobald. Gottfried is then a nobleman?
Matthew. My master is the Count of Winkelthal.
Theobald, (with agitation.) The Count of Winkelthal, Matthew? Arnold, the Lion, was then his son? Am I then, indeed, in the house of his father?
Matthew. Arnold is the only son of my master; and he is not dead!
"Not dead!" exclaimed Theobald, extending his hands to the domestic. "Tell me, Matthew, are you sure of this?"
Matthew. Arnold is living. God has preserved him, and he is here; he is near you—yes, in the room adjoining!
"Now I can weep!" said Theobald, putting his hands over his face, and sobbing aloud.
Matthew approached him with emotion, and Theobald, passing his arm around the neck of the servant, leaned his head upon his bosom, weeping abundantly, and saying,