"Uncle, if you will lead us down, we will now take our places at the gate," said Tekla, her voice quavering with conflicting emotions.
The Count obeyed in silence, and stood awkwardly, muttering low maledictions at this mummery, yet knowing there was nothing before him but endurance. His wife took up her position, trembling, at his right and his niece at his left.
The foremost horsemen ranged themselves on each side of the gate, their evolutions, for the moment, concealing the chief personage from the view of those standing in the portal. When the Emperor rode forward with Conrad at his side, Tekla cried out as one in fear, then for a moment leaned against her uncle for support. Heinrich looked at her white face, not knowing what ailed her, and was about to speak roughly, as was his custom, when she gasped hurriedly under her breath:
"Uncle, uncle, look. Who is the Emperor?"
The Black Count turned his gaze once more to the front and cried:
"By my sins, it is no Emperor at all, but Lord Rodolph."
Tekla, quicker of comprehension, whispered, holding bravely off the faintness that had suddenly come upon her:
"Lord Rodolph is the Emperor."
Rodolph swung himself lightly from the horse before Conrad could put hand to stirrup, and advanced quickly towards them, the cavalry coming to a halt behind him.
"My Lord Count," he cried, "you see how easy it is to take your castle when a real warrior comes against it."