"Then you are the daughter of the castle," answered the jester, "and its only begotten child!"
"How do you prove that, Herr von Narren?" asked Count Frederick, seeming to enjoy very much the man's dull jokes.
"Now cogitate," replied the jester. "Is not the castle made of stone?--all lords' hearts are made of stone, too. He is the lord of the castle, and if she is the daughter of his heart, she is the daughter of a stone; the castle is made of stone, ergo, she is the daughter of the castle."
"It halts!--it halts!" cried Count Frederick; "your argument is lame of one foot!"
"My father's heart has never been of stone to me," replied Adelaide, gently.
"Perhaps you never cut it, or you would have found it so, pretty blossom," said the jester, more gravely than was his wont; and then turning to Count Frederick, he was about to continue in his usual strain, when their host entered, and in courteous terms, and with the ceremonious manners of the day, besought his noble guest to follow him to the apartments which had been prepared for him.
Adelaide remained some minutes behind. I will not attempt to explain why; for ladies' thoughts and motives form a difficult book to read. It was certainly likely that Ferdinand of Altenburg would speedily return to the hall; and perhaps she might not be unwilling to see him again for a few minutes; or perhaps she might feel time hang heavy on her hands, as it often did in those old castles, and she be well disposed to while away a brief space in talking even with a jester. Let those who are wise in such things, judge. At all events, her conversation went on with Herr von Narren, as Count Frederick called him; and she it was who renewed it, saying,--
"You accompanied Count Frederick from the Holy Land, I think?"
"No, lady, he accompanied me," answered the jester; "fools always lead the way, you know, and wise men follow."
"But there was nothing foolish in coming back to your native country," said Adelaide.