The musician found Junker von Dornburg engaged in an eager conversation with Nicolas.
“No, no, my boy,” said the German cordially, “my way cannot be yours.”
“I am seventeen years old.”
“That’s not it; you’ve just confronted me bravely, and you have a man’s strength of will—but life ought still to bear flowers for you, if such is God’s will—you are going forth to fight sword-in-hand to win a worthy destiny of peace and prosperity, for yourself and your native land, in freedom—but I, I—give me your hand and promise—”
“My hand? There it is; but I must refuse the promise. With or without you—I shall go to the Beggars!”
Georg gazed at the brave boy in delight, and asked gently:
“Is your mother living?”
“No.”
“Then come. We shall probably both find what we seek with the Beggars.”
Nicolas clasped the hand Georg offered, but Wilhelm approached the Junker, saying: