Abbot, while food and wine were being brought and set upon the
table for his refreshment; a great, tall, broad-shouldered man,
beside whom the Abbot looked thinner and slighter than ever.

The stranger was clad all in polished and gleaming armor, of
plate and chain, over which was drawn a loose robe of gray
woollen stuff, reaching to the knees and bound about the waist
by a broad leathern sword-belt. Upon his arm he carried a great
helmet which he had just removed from his head. His face was
weather-beaten and rugged, and on lip and chin was a wiry,
bristling beard; once red, now frosted with white.

Brother Ignatius had bidden Otto to enter, and had then closed
the door behind him; and now, as the lad walked slowly up the
long room, he gazed with round, wondering blue eyes at the
stranger.

"Dost know who I am, Otto ? said the mail-clad knight, in a
deep, growling voice.

"Methinks you are my father, sir," said Otto.

"Aye, thou art right," said Baron Conrad, "and I am glad to see
that these milk-churning monks have not allowed thee to forget
me, and who thou art thyself."

"An' it please you," said Otto, "no one churneth milk here but
Brother Fritz; we be makers of wine and not makers of butter, at
St. Michaelsburg."