Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg looked about him in confusion. "Prepare for the worst, sir!" he said, "the intelligence I bring you is not good."
"How?" answered the other, whilst the blush of rage flew into his cheeks, and the veins of his forehead began to swell, "how, do you mean they hesitate, they waver? It is impossible! be not precipitate in what you say, recollect it is of the nobles of the land of whom you speak."
"And still I will say it," Schweinsberg answered, making a step forward. "In the face of the Emperor and the Empire, I will say they are traitors."
"Thou liest!" cried the exile with a terrible voice. "Traitors, did you say? Thou liest! Dost thou dare to rob forty knights of their honour? Ha! own it, that you lie."
"Would to God I were a knight without honour--a dog that betrays his master! But the whole forty have broken their oaths--you have lost your country. My Lord Duke, Tübingen is gone!"
The man, whom these words more immediately concerned, sank in a chair at the window: he covered his face with his hands, his agitated breast appeared to seek in vain for breath, his whole frame trembled.
The eyes of all were directed to him, expressive of commiseration and pain, particularly Albert's, who now for the first time learnt the name of "the man"--it was him, Duke Ulerich of Würtemberg! Recollections of the first moment he had met him, of his first visit to the cavern, of the conversation they had had, and the way which his whole bearing had surprised him and bound him to his cause, crossed his mind in one rapid flight. It was quite incomprehensible to him, that he had not long ago made the discovery.
No one dared to break the silence for some time. The heavy breathing of the Duke only was heard, and his faithful dog, who appeared to partake of his master's misery, added his pitiable whining to the distressing scene. Old Lichtenstein at length giving a sign to the knight of Schweinsberg, they both approached the Duke, and touched his cloak, in order to rouse him, but he remained immoveable and silent. Bertha had stood aloof, with tears in her eyes. She now drew near with hesitating step, put her hand on his shoulder, and, beholding him with a look of tender compassion, at last took courage to say, "My Lord Duke! it is still good Würtemberg for ever!"
A deep sigh escaping from his breast, was the only notice he took of the kind girl's solicitude. Albert then approached him. The expression which the exile had made use of, when they first met, flashed across his mind, and he ventured to address the same words now to his afflicted friend. "Man without a name," said he, "why so downhearted? Si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinæ!"[1]
These words acted like a charm upon Ulerich. Whether he had adopted them as his motto, or whether it was that combination of greatness of soul, and obstinate contempt of misfortune, which formed his character, and acquired for him the name of the "Undaunted," he was reanimated, as if by an electric spark, when he heard them repeated, and from that moment rose worthy of his name.