Baron Conrad broke into a great, loud laugh, but Abbot Otto's
sad and thoughtful face lit up with no shadow of an answering
smile.

"Conrad," said he, turning to the other, "again let me urge
thee; do not take the child hence, his life can never be your
life, for he is not fitted for it. I had thought," said he,
after a moment's pause, "I had thought that thou hadst meant to
consecrate him - this motherless one - to the care of the
Universal Mother Church."

"So!" said the Baron, "thou hadst thought that, hadst thou? Thou
hadst thought that I had intended to deliver over this boy, the
last of the Vuelphs, to the arms of the Church? What then was to
become of our name and the glory of our race if it was to end
with him in a monastery? No, Drachenhausen is the home of the
Vuelphs, and there the last of the race shall live as his sires
have lived before him, holding to his rights by the power and
the might of his right hand."

The Abbot turned and looked at the boy, who was gaping in simple
wide-eyed wonderment from one to the other as they spoke.

"And dost thou think, Conrad," said the old man, in his gentle,
patient voice, "that that poor child can maintain his rights by
the strength of his right hand?"

The Baron's look followed the Abbot's, and he said nothing.

In the few seconds of silence that followed, little Otto, in his