"The Lord bless you!"
"Amen," answered Christian solemnly.
This young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rose pink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair and so silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison with it. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed with inexpressible sweetness.
Maître Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman, kindly addressing the young girl, said—
"I am glad to see you, Fuldrade. Irmengarde is still asleep. What a storm it is! Is it coming to an end yet?"
"Yes, the wind is driving it down to the plain. It will be over before daylight."
Then, without looking at Maître Bernard, she went to sit before the old woman, who now seemed to revive.
"Fuldrade," she murmured, "is the great tower yet standing?"
"Yes."
The aged woman bowed her head, and her lips moved.