"Stand up," said the king at last.
Bertila obeyed.
"Do you know what this letter contains?"
"No, your Majesty."
The king watched him closely, but was satisfied with the honest and truthful expression of his face.
"Your father is a strange man. He hates all noblemen since the days of the Peasants' War. He fought many tough battles as their leader; and Fleming's troops took possession of his farm. He forbids you ever to bear a noble name, if you wish to avoid his curse."
Bertila did not reply. A thunder-bolt from a clear sky had come down upon his happiness, and all his dreams of a noble and knightly name had been destroyed at one blow.
"A father's will must be obeyed," continued the king with great seriousness.
"The noble name which I had intended for you, you cannot accept. Do not feel sad, my young friend, you shall keep your sword and your lieutenant's commission; with them, and your brave arm, the path to honour will always be open to you."
The king now dismissed him, and the young man left the tent with mixed feelings.