banged their doors: others scowled and pocketed their fists: not a few
slunk into the side alleys like well-licked curs, and scurried off with
forebent knees. They were in truth ferocious-looking fellows these trusty
servants of the robber Baron Werner, of Werner's Eck, behind Andernach.
Leather, steel, and dust, clad them from head to foot; big and black as
bears; wolf-eyed, fox-nosed. They glistened bravely in the falling beams
of the sun, and Margarita thrust her fair braided yellow head a little
forward over her father's shoulder to catch the whole length of the grim
cavalcade. One of the troop was not long in discerning the young beauty.
He pointed her boldly out to a comrade, who approved his appetite, and
referred her to a third. The rest followed lead, and Margarita was as one
spell-struck when she became aware that all those hungry eyes were
preying on hers. Old Gottlieb was too full of his own fears to think for
her, and when he drew in his head rather suddenly, it was with a dismal
foreboding that Werner's destination in Cologne was direct to the house
of Gottlieb Groschen, for purposes only too well to be divined.

'Devil's breeches!' muttered Gottlieb; 'look again, Grete, and see if
that hell-troop stop the way outside.'

Margarita's cheeks were overflowing with the offended rose.

'I will not look at them again, father.'

Gottlieb stared, and then patted her.

'I would I were a man, father!'

Gottlieb smiled, and stroked his beard.