well his satin clothes and velvet cloak became him, how beautifully the
white puffs were relieved against the deep blue of his dress! How
proudly the white and yellow plumes arched over his cap, and how delicate
were the laces on his collar and cuffs! His son, the very image of the
handsome father, stood beside him, and the count had laid his hand
familiarly on his shoulder, as if he were not his child, but a friend
and comrade.

"A devil of a fellow!" whispered the count to the abbot. "Did you see
the fair-haired lad's throw? From what house does the young noble come?"

The prelate shrugged his shoulders, and answered smiling:

"From the smithy at Richtberg."

"Does he belong to Adam?" laughed the other. "Zounds! I had a bitter
hour in the confessional on his mother's account. He has inherited the
beautiful Florette's hair and eyes; otherwise he looks like his father.
With your permission, my Lord Abbot, I'll call the boy."

"Afterwards, afterwards," replied the superior of the monastery in a tone
of friendly denial, which permitted no contradiction. "First tell the
boys, what we have decided?"

Count Frohlinger bowed respectfully, then drew his son closer to his
side, and waited for the boys, to whom the abbot beckoned.

As soon as they had gathered in a group before him, the nobleman
exclaimed: