"And the younger," cried Heinz joyously, "honours with her gracious
innocence the name of her through whom sin came into the world."

"But you, Sir Knight," exclaimed Wolff fiercely, "would do better not to
name sin and Eva Ortlieb in the same breath. If you are of a different
opinion----"

"Then," interrupted the Swiss, "we come back to warming the iron."

"As you say," cried Wolff resolutely. "In spite of the peace of the
country, I will be at your service at any time. As you see, I went out
unarmed, and it would not be well done to cross swords here."

"Certainly not," Heinz assented. "But many days and nights will follow
this moonlight one, and that you may have little difficulty in finding me
whenever you desire, know that my name is Heinrich--or to more intimate
friends, among whom you might easily be numbered if we don't deprive each
other of the pleasure of meeting again under the sun--Heinz Schorlin."

"Schorlin?" asked Wolff in surprise. "Then you are the knight who, when
a beardless boy, cut down on the Marchfield the Bohemian whose lance had
slain the Emperor's charger, the Swiss who aided him to mount the steed
of Ramsweg of Thurgau--your uncle, if I am not mistaken--and then took
the wild ride to bring up the tall Capeller, with his troops, who so
gloriously decided the day."

"And," laughed Heinz, "who was finally borne off the field as dead before
the fulfilment of his darling wish to redden Swiss steel with royal
Bohemian blood. This closed the chronicle, Herr--what shall I call you?"