"Eat," bade she who was called Gretchen, shortly.

"And my horse?"

"Where is it?"

"Tied to a tree by the gate."

She struck a Chinese gong. From the kitchen appeared an elderly
servitor who looked to me more fitted to handle a saber than a
carving-knife; at least, the scar on his cheek impressed me with this
idea. (I found out later that he was an old soldier, who lived alone
in the castle as caretaker.)

"Take this gentleman's horse to the stables and feed him," said
Gretchen. "You will find the animal by the gate."

With a questioning glance at me the old fellow bowed and made off.

I sat down, and the two women brought the various plates and placed
them within reach. Their beautiful hands flashed before my eyes and
now and then a sleeve brushed my shoulder.

"Thank you," I murmured. "I will eat first, and then make my
apologies."

This remark caught the fancy of Gretchen. She laughed. It was the
same laughter I had heard while standing in the great hall.

"Will you drink tea, or would you prefer to finish this Bordeaux?" she