'Yes,' my lady answered. 'That is the Werra, and beyond it is, I suppose, the world.'
'Whither I must go back this day week,' he said, between sighing and smiling. 'Then, hey for the south and Nuremberg, the good cause and the great King.'
'You have seen him?'
'Once only.'
'And is he so great a fighter?' my lady asked curiously.
'How can he fail to be when he and his men fight and pray alternately,' the Waldgrave answered; 'when there is no license in the camp, and a Swede thinks death the same as victory?'
'Where is he now?'
'At Munich, in Bavaria.'
'How it would have grieved my uncle,' my lady said, with a sigh.
'He died as he would have wished to die,' the Waldgrave answered gently. 'He believed in his cause, as the King of Sweden believes in his; and he died for it. What more can a man ask? But here is Franz with all sorts of good things. And I am afraid a feast of beauty, however perfect, does not prevent a man getting hungry.'