"Not for him I weep," was the reply; "nor yet for the bereaved people of
Cologne." The missionary paused, unable to proceed, and then hurriedly
exclaimed, "Who is to be his successor? Who is to appoint him?—Gregory
VII or Henry of Austria!"
"He will not dare!" ejaculated the other, who not until this moment clearly understood his more keen-sighted friend.
"He who has dared to fill the sees of Liège and Milan may not scruple to dishonor the see of Cologne! But let us pray and hope; for suffer what we may, we cannot be conquered."
This long interview was here terminated by the bell of the Benedictine, summoning to dinner. The Baron of Hers was noted for his fine person and his polished address, and saluted them with even more than his usual politeness as they entered the dining-room. He was the only one of the group who seemed at ease; for the two missionaries could not forget the death of Anno—and Gilbert, from some cause or other, had lost his sprightliness.
"I fear," said the knight to Father Omehr, "that you have half made a traitor of Gilbert, for he will no longer let me abuse my friends at Stramen, but sides with them against me. It is hard to fight our battles all alone, and against our friends, after forty."
"The Lady Margaret, who dressed his wound, must be blamed—not I," replied the priest.
The handsome face of the Baron of Hers, in an instant, became black as night, and as quickly recovered its former mildness; but the change, apparently, was not noticed by him who had caused it.
"I have heard," resumed the knight, in a careless tone, "that the young lady possesses much virtue, intelligence, and beauty, and is wise enough to prefer the cloister to the court."
"You have not been misinformed; yet her health is so feeble, that the grave will probably anticipate her choice of either."
It was not until the close of the meal that the Lord of Hers was informed of the death of the Archbishop of Cologne, and from that time until they rose the conversation turned wholly upon the venerated and saintly prelate.