“Who ever would have thought such a fuss would come of turning a pancake!” thought the cook to herself; but she said out aloud, “Well, it is true, the Hennenpfösl did hold the frying-pan while it was on the stove; I didn’t know it was worth while to mention that. But what could she have to do with the beautiful rings?”
“True,” replied the servant, “that can have nothing to do with it, as you say.”
“Nay,” replied the baron, “I’m not so clear of that. Let the Hennenpfösl, as you call her, be brought here, and let’s see what account she has to give of it.”
“But it’s impossible; she isn’t even a servant of the house. She is a little whining beggar brat, that I took in scarce three weeks ago and put in the poultry-loft, to keep her from starving.”
“Three weeks!” exclaimed the baron; “said you three weeks? Let her be brought to me instantly.”
“But she isn’t fit to come into your presence; she’s grimed with dirt, and covered in rags.”
“Reason not, but send her hither,” said the baron, his energy returning as his hopes kindled.
“If she is the maiden to whom I gave the ring, she is of no low birth: there is some mystery which I must penetrate. If she were nothing but a ‘Hennenpfösl,’ whence could she have had this brilliant ring, which puts mine to shame?” he mused within himself, as he waited impatiently for the maiden of his dreams to appear.
Klein-Else, meantime, had made no doubt that since the baron had sent for the cook, his wisdom would enable him to discover that she must be sent for next, and had accordingly repaired to her treasury in the rock, and had taken thence a resplendent attire. It was no longer now the simple gifts of nature which furnished her wardrobe; she was decked as became a baron’s daughter, with all the resources of the milliner and the jeweller’s art. Cavaliers and ladies-in-waiting walked beside her, and twenty pages dressed in pink and white satin, with plumed bonnets, carried her train behind, while men in rich liveries, bearing torches, ran by the side of the procession.
Gräfin Jaufenstein was at the head of the hall welcoming the guests, and doing the honours of the castle, to supply what the moody humour of its lord left lacking in courtesy. But while she courtesied to noble lords and ladies with queenly grace, and, with imperceptible asides, at the same time gave directions that every one should have his due place, and that every thing should proceed with the due order of etiquette, it never for a moment escaped her practised eye that something unusual was going on in the neighbourhood of the young baron. That he should summon the cook to his presence, probably to chide her justly for some breach of the rules of her art, if such had befallen, was indeed no unreasonable distraction for the baron’s melancholy, and she hailed it as a token of returning interest in the ordinary affairs of life, which had occupied him so little of late; but when she heard him order the Hennenpfösl to be brought there in the midst of his guests, she thought it time to interfere—it became a matter of eccentricity passing all bounds. Dexterously excusing her momentary absence from her guests, she accordingly made her way up to her nephew, preparing to wrap up her remonstrance in her most honeyed language, so as better to convince without provoking him. Before she could reach his chair, there was a movement of astonishment in the vast assembly, and a cry of admiration, while the heralds proclaimed,—