Again the passionate outbreak of his foe restored the Swiss to composure. With a calmness which seemed to the servant incomprehensible, though it filled him with delight, he turned to the monk, saying earnestly and simply: “Appearances may be against me, Pater Benedictus. I will tell you all the circumstances at once. How this maid came here will be explained later. As for the maiden whom this man calls the older beautiful E, never—I swear it by our saint—have I sought her love or received from her the smallest token of her favour.”
Then turning to Siebenburg he continued, still calmly, but with menacing sternness: “If I judge you aright, you will now go from one to another telling whom you found here, in order to injure the fair fame of the maiden whom your wife’s valiant brother chose for his bride, and to place my name with hers in the pillory.”
“Where Els Ortlieb belongs rather than in the honourable home of a Nuremberg patrician,” retorted Siebenburg furiously. “If she became too base for my brother-in-law, the fault is yours. I shall certainly take care that he learns the truth and knows where, and at what an hour, his betrothed bride met foreign heartbreakers. To open the eyes of others concerning her will also be a pleasant duty.”
Heinz sprang towards Biberli to snatch the sword from his hand, but he held it firmly, seeking his master’s eyes with a look of warning entreaty; but his faithful solicitude would have been futile had not the monk lent his aid. The old man’s whispered exhortation to his young friend to spare the imperial master, to whom he was so deeply indebted, a fresh sorrow, restored to the infuriated young knight his power of self-control. Pushing the thick locks back from his brow with a hasty movement, he answered in a tone of the most intense contempt:
“Do what you will, but remember this: Beware that, ere the joust begins, you do not ride the rail instead of the charger. The maidens whose pure name you so yearn to sully are of noble birth, and if they appear to complain of you——”
“Then I will proclaim the truth,” Siebenburg retorted, “and the Court of Love and Pursuivant at Arms will deprive you, the base seducer, of the right to enter the lists rather than me, my handsome knight!”
“So be it,” replied Heinz quietly. “You can discuss the other points with my herald. Wolff Eysvogel, too—rely upon it—will challenge you, if you fulfil your base design.”
Then, turning his back upon Seitz without a word of farewell, he motioned the monk towards the open door of the antechamber, and letting him lead the way, closed it behind them.
“He will come to you, you boaster!” Siebenburg shouted contemptuously after the Swiss, and then turned to Biberli and the maid with a patronising question; but the former, without even opening his lips in reply, hastened to the door and, with a significant gesture, induced the knight to retire.
Seitz submitted and hastened down the stairs, his eyes flashing as if he had won a great victory. At the door of the house he grasped the hilt of his sword, and then, with rapid movements, twisted the ends of his mustache. The surprise he had given the insolent Swiss by the discovery of his love messenger—it had acted like a spell—could not have succeeded better. And what had Schorlin alleged in justification? Nothing, absolutely nothing at all. Wolff Eysvogel’s herald should challenge the Swiss, not him, who meant to open the deceived lover’s eyes concerning his betrothed bride.