"Well, that is Albert von Sturmfeder," answered the scribe, "a handsome charming young fellow. It is curious that you should be the first he noticed in coming into the town." Kraft then related all the particulars of what had passed at the dinner, how he was at once struck by the manly figure, the commanding and attractive countenance of the young man, who, by good luck, became his neighbour at table, and that the more he knew of him the more he liked him; so much so, that he had invited him to his house.
Bertha rose from her seat, and went to look for her work-box, turning her back at the same time upon both her cousins, in order to conceal a blush which flew to her forehead, and which proved that not one word of Dieterick's conversation was lost upon her.
"Come, that is very kind of you, cousin," said Marie, as he finished: "I believe it is the first time you have ventured to have a guest in your house. I should like to have seen the face of old Sabina, when master Dieter, as she calls you, brought a stranger home so late at night."
"Oh," said the scribe, "she resembled the dragon attacking St. George; but I gave her to understand pretty clearly, that it was not at all improbable, I might soon bring home one of my pretty cousins----"
"Ah, get away with you, and don't talk nonsense," resumed Marie, as she tried to withdraw her hand, which he had taken, blushing highly at the same time. She had never appeared so pretty in his eyes as at this moment. Bertha's serious face, in proportion as this flirtation increased, lost its attraction in his estimation, the balance of his devotion was all in favour of the animated Marie, who now sat before him in all the bloom of blushing beauty.
Bertha having slipt out of the room, Marie escaped the tender grasp of Dieterick's hand, and profited by this opportunity to turn the subject of the conversation.
"There she goes," she said, as she looked after her cousin; "I would wager she is going to her room to weep again. She cried so violently yesterday, that it has made me also quite melancholy."
"What is the matter with her?" asked Dieterick, with interest.
"I am as ignorant of the cause of her grief as ever," answered Marie; "I have asked her over and over again; but she only shakes her head, as if there was no hope left. 'This unhappy war!' is all she ever gave me for answer."
"And is old Lichtenstein still determined to take her back to his castle?"