neighbouring count, and immediately I used my sword for them,
vigorously and successfully."

"Your sword! your knightly sword!" interrupted Biorn; and the old
wonted fire flashed from his eyes. "Against a knight, and for
shopkeepers!"

"Sir knight," replied Folko, calmly, "the barons of Montfaucon have
ever used their swords as they chose, without the interference of
another; and as I have received this good custom, so do I wish to
hand it on. If you agree not to this, so speak it freely out. But I
forbid every rude word against the men of Hamburgh, since I have
declared them to be my friends."

Biorn cast down his haughty eyes, and their fire faded away. In a low
voice he said, "Proceed, noble baron. You are right, and I am
wrong."

Then Folko stretched out his hand to him across the table, and
resumed his narration: "Amongst all my beloved Hamburghers the
dearest to me are two men of marvellous experience--a father and son.
What have they not seen and done in the remotest corners of the
earth, and instituted in their native town! Praise be to God, my
life cannot be called unfruitful; but, compared with the wise
Gotthard Lenz and his stout-hearted son Rudlieb, I look upon myself
as an esquire who has perhaps been some few times to tourneys, and,
besides that, has never hunted out his own forests. They have
converted, subdued, gladdened, dark men whom I know not how to name;
and the wealth which they have brought back with them has all been
devoted to the common weal, as if fit for no other purpose. On their