"Ah, true—the dancing," said Annette; "that was something to be sorry for indeed."
"But most am I sorry, Annette, that I cannot tell whether I act precisely right or wrong in seeing this young man, though it must be for the last time. Were my father to arrive?—Were Ital Schreckenwald to return"—
"Your father is too deeply engaged on some of his dark and mystic errands," said the flippant Swiss; "sailed to the mountains of the Brockenberg, where witches hold their sabbath, or gone on a hunting-party with the Wild Huntsman."
"Fie, Annette, how dare you talk thus of my father?"
"Why, I know little of him personally," said the damsel, "and you yourself do not know much more. And how should that be false which all men say is true?"
"Why, fool, what do they say?"
"Why, that the Count is a wizard,—that your grandmother was a will-of-wisp, and old Ital Schreckenwald a born devil incarnate; and there is some truth in that, whatever comes of the rest."
"Where is he?"
"Gone down to spend the night in the village, to see the Rhinegrave's men quartered, and keep them in some order, if possible; for the soldiers are disappointed of pay which they had been promised; and when this happens, nothing resembles a lanzknecht except a chafed bear."
"Go we down then, girl; it is perhaps the last night which we may spend, for years, with a certain degree of freedom."