The merchant showed visible signs of a slowly rising anger, and had the
young man's head contained the wisdom he appeared to claim for it, he
would have known that his remarks were entirely lacking in tact, and
that he was making no progress, but rather the reverse. "You speak like
a heedless, untutored youth. How could we defend our bales, when no
merchant is allowed to wear a sword?"

Roland rose and put his hands to the throat of his cloak.

"I am not allowed to wear a sword;" and saying this, he dramatically
flung wide his cloak, displaying the prohibited weapon hanging from his
belt. The merchant sat back in his chair, visibly impressed.

"You seem to repose great confidence in me," he said. "What if I were to
inform the authorities?"

The youth smiled.

"You forget, Herr Goebel, that I learned much about you from your friend
last night. I feel quite safe in your house."

He flung his cloak once more over the weapon, and sat down again.

"What is your occupation, sir?" asked the merchant.

"I am a teacher of swordsmanship. I practice the art of a
fencing-master."

"Your clients are aristocrats, then?"