Els had made no answer to her questions, but her imploring, tearful eyes
pierced the young countess to the heart. Her quick ear had caught
Siebenburg's malicious words and Casper Eysvogel's harsh response and,
with deep pity, she felt how keenly the poor girl must suffer.

The happiness of a whole life destroyed without any fault of her own!
From their first meeting Els had seemed to her incapable of any careless
error, and she had merely tried, by her bold, interference, to protect
her from the gossip of evil tongues. But Heinz Schorlin had just
approached and whispered that, by his knightly honour, Els was a total
stranger to him, and he only wished he might find his own dear sister at
home as pure and free from any fault.

Poor child! But the countess knew who had frustrated her intervention in
behalf of Els. It was Sir Seitz Siebenburg, "the Mustache," whose
officious homage, at first amusing, had long since become repulsive. Her
heart shrank from the thought that, merely from vain pleasure in having a
throng of admirers, she had given this scoundrel more than one glance of
encouragement. The riding whip fairly quivered in her right hand as,
after informing Ernst Ortlieb where Els had gone, she warned the
gentlemen that it was time to depart, and Seitz Siebenburg submissively,
yet as familiarly as if he had a right to her special favour, held out
his hand in farewell.

But Countess Cordula withdrew hers with visible dislike, saying in a tone
of chilling repulse: "Remember me to your wife, Sir Knight. Tell her to
take care that her twin sons resemble their father as little as
possible."