"All our worldly goods," replied Christopher, curtly.
"What is your name, friend, and where are you bound?"
"Cotta," answered Christopher. "My father is the director of the Elector's printing press at the new University of Wittemberg."
"Cotta!" rejoined the knight more respectfully, "a good burgher name;" and saying this he rode back to the wagon, and saluting our father, surveyed us all with a cool freedom, as if his notice honoured us, until his eye lighted on Eva, who was sitting with her arm round Thekla, soothing the frightened child, and helping her to arrange some violets Christopher had gathered a few minutes before. His voice lowered when he saw her, and he said,—
"This is no burgher maiden, surely? May I ask your name, fair Fraülein?" he said, doffing his hat and addressing Eva.
She made no reply, but continued arranging her flowers, without changing feature or colour, except her lip curled and quivered slightly.
"The Fraülein is absorbed with her bouquet; would that we were nearer our Schloss, that I might offer her flowers more worthy of her handling."
"Are you addressing me?" said Eva at length, raising her large eyes, and fixing them on him with her gravest expression; "I am no Fraülein, I am a burgher maiden; but if I were a queen, any of God's flowers would be fair enough for me. And to a true knight," she added, "a peasant maiden is as sacred as a queen."
No one ever could trifle with that earnest expression of Eva's face. It was his turn to be abashed. His effrontery failed him altogether, and he murmured, "I have merited the rebuke. These flowers are too fair, at least for me. If you would bestow one on me, I would keep it sacredly as a gift of my mother's or as the relics of a saint."
"You can gather them anywhere in the forest," said Eva; but little Thekla filled both her little hands with violets, and gave them to him.