When the knight, with his figure drawn up to its full height, strode hastily into the royal hall, he beheld with joyful emotion those who were most dear to him, for whose presence he had longed most fervently during the ride—his mother, Eva, his sister, and the imperial friend he loved so warmly.
Overwhelmed by agitation, he flung himself on his knees before his master, kissing his hand and his robe, but the Emperor ordered him to rise and cordially greeted him.
Before speaking to his relatives, Heinz informed the monarch that he had successfully executed his commission and, receiving a few words of thanks and appreciation, modestly but with urgent warmth entreated the Emperor, if he was satisfied with his work, instead of any other reward, to save from further persecution the faithful servant who for his sake had borne the most terrible torture.
The face of the sovereign, who had welcomed Heinz as if he were a long-absent son, assumed a graver expression, and his tone seemed to vibrate with a slight touch of indignation, as he exclaimed: “First, let us settle your own affairs. Serious charges have been made against you, my son, as well as against your servant, on whose account I have been so tormented. A father, who is one of the leading men in this city, accuses you of having destroyed his daughter’s good name by forcing yourself into his house after assuring his child of your love.”
Heinz turned to Eva, to protest that he was here to atone for the wrong he had done her, but the Emperor would not permit him to speak. It was important to silence at once any objection which could be made against the marriage by ecclesiastical and secular foes; therefore, eagerly as he desired to enjoy the happiness of the young pair, he forced himself to maintain the expression of grave dissatisfaction which he had assumed, and ordered a page to summon the imperial magistrate, the First Losunger of the city, and his protonotary, who were all amongst the guests, and, lastly, the Duchess Agnes.
He could read the latter’s child eyes like the clear characters of a book, and neither the radiant glow on her face at Heinz Schorlin’s entrance nor her hostile glance at the Countess von Montfort had escaped his notice. Both her affection and her jealous resentment should serve him.
The young Bohemian now thought herself certain that Heinz Schorlin, and no other, was Cordula’s chosen knight; the countess, at his entrance, had exclaimed to her father loudly enough, “Here he is again!”
When the princess stood before the Emperor, with the gentlemen whom he had summoned, he asked her to decide the important question.
“Yonder knight—he motioned towards Heinz—had been guilty of an act which could scarcely be justified. Though he had wooed the daughter of a noble Nuremberg family, and even forced his way into her father’s house, he had apparently forgotten the poor girl.
“And,” cried the young wife indignantly, “the unprincipled man has not only made a declaration of love to another, but formally asked her hand.”