am not so sure of that," replied Rodolph. "I had no supper last night, and this morning none has said to me 'This is the way to the dining hall.'"
"Do you mean that you have not yet breakfasted?" cried Tekla, turning to him with quick surprised interest. "And I have been standing here censuring a hungry man. You must think our race a most ungrateful one."
"I had no such thought. But your mention of starvation reminded me that I am rather in the condition of a famishing garrison myself."
"Then come with me at once. I will be your hostess, and will endeavour to recompense you for the inhospitality of the castle. There is a delightful balcony overlooking the quiet inner courtyard, and there we shall spread your repast. Come."
The Emperor followed her, and presently arrived at the balcony she had spoken of, overhanging the neglected garden. It was, indeed, a pleasant spot in so stern a fortress, shut off by heavy velvet hangings from the apartment out of which it projected and forming thus a little square room half inside the castle and half in the open air.
Rodolph sat at the table with the Countess opposite him, while Hilda waited on them. Tekla chatted as her vis-à-vis broke his long fast.
"I intend to make this plot of ground my care, and, while all others are busy fighting for me, I shall be peacefully engaged in gardening. I hope to interest my aunt in horticulture. Poor woman, she seems to have little to occupy her mind in this prison, and I fear her husband pays scant attention to her. Him too I shall cultivate if I get an opportunity. He has need of civilisation, for he scarce seems to believe that women have a right to exist, and his wife has for years been so patient and uncomplaining, that he has been confirmed in his neglect of her."
"I have already cautioned my archer this morning not to encroach too boldly on his Lordship's good nature, which the Count seems to have but short stock of. May I venture to suggest that the task of reforming him will be more safely accomplished perhaps when your Ladyship occupies your strongest castle, with a stout garrison about you?"
"Have no fear, my Lord. He came to us last night and sat talking to me as smoothly as if he were the Archbishop himself—in truth, much more smoothly than the Archbishop has lately spoken. He sat there with his elbow on the table looking fixedly at me, quite ignoring his wife, who trembled with fear while he was in the room, and groaned aloud when I spoke my mind to him on one or two occasions. He said that we two were the only kin each had and should think much of each other. I told him frankly I should be pleased to think much of him as soon as I saw occasion to do so, but that what I had seen of him heretofore had not made me proud of the kinship. My Lady caught her breath and looked imploringly at me, but he, frowning, gazed sternly at me, first saying nothing, then after a long silence muttering: 'I would you were a man,' 'Indeed, uncle,' I replied, 'such was my own wish this afternoon, when, instead of throwing myself at your feet I might have drawn sword and taught good manners in Thuron.' Then you should have seen him. His brow was like midnight, and his eyes blazed. He started up in wrath, and I little wondered that my Lady moaned and wrung her hands, but I laughed and returned his look without flinching, although I may confess to you I was as frightened as when in Cochem. But his frown cleared away, and something almost resembling a twinkle came into his piercing eyes. I am sure there was at least the beginning of a smile under his black beard as he said, quite in kindly tone, 'We are, indeed, relatives, Tekla.' He placed his hand on my head as if I were a little child, sighed, turned on his heel and strode away without further farewell. My aunt gazed wonderingly at me as if I had baited a bear, and had unexpectedly come forth unscathed."
"Which is exactly my own opinion. I beg of you not to repeat the experiment."
Tekla looked archly at him across the table, with a smile on her face like the play of sunshine on the fair surface of the river.
"Why should I repeat it, my Lord? It is only men who do that, and as your former advice was given to a man, it was of course well placed. A man always repeats. Oh, I know his formula. First there is the haughty word; next the sneering reply; then a mounting flush of anger to the forehead, and hand on the hilt of the sword. It always ends with the sword, for the men have little patience and less originality. With a woman it must be different, for she carries no sword, and her ingenuity is her only weapon. My dark uncle, when he reflects slowly on his treatment, will come at last to a conclusion regarding what he shall do when next I laugh at him. But when he visits us again I shall be most kind to him, and he will learn with amaze how pleasant he finds it when he acts less like a bear with his women folk. I shall take him to this balcony and feed him tenderly. Hilda knows the method of preparing some culinary dainties, which are common enough at Treves, but utterly unknown at Thuron. On each occasion my dear uncle will find me different, and whatever plan he prepares for one method of attack, will be utterly useless when confronted with another. I can see he is an unready man, and I shall never give him time to build up a line of defence while he is with me. Oh, if the Archbishop attacks Thuron with half the skill with which I shall besiege my uncle, then is the castle doomed. And in the end you shall find that my dark uncle will so dearly assess me that he will fight for me against a whole house of Archbishops."
"I can well believe that," said Rodolph, with undisguised admiration.
Before Tekla could reply a wild cheer went up from the further courtyard, echoed by a fainter cheer outside the castle. Rodolph started to his feet and listened as the acclamations continued.
"Run, Hilda," cried the Countess. "Find the cause of the outcry and bring us tidings of it."
When the girl breathlessly returned she said they were hoisting on the great southern tower the broad flag of Thuron, and that the people were cheering as if they were mad, but the cause of it all she could not learn.
"The Archbishop's army is very likely in sight," said Rodolph, "although how that can be, unless Arnold has sent it close on Bertrich's heels, I cannot understand. Perhaps Bertrich has met it between the castle and Cochem and has returned with it. Let us go and see."
CHAPTER XVI.
THE COUNTESS TRIES TO TAME THE BEAR.
Once more Tekla and Rodolph found themselves on the battlements. The flag hung listless at the top of the pole in the still air, as if the time for action had not yet arrived. On a hill summit further up the river another flag was fluttering, and on the other side, still more distant, a third flag was being slowly raised against the sky. Whether or not this betokened the coming of the Archbishop, Rodolph could not determine. The nearer flag seemed to be of the same design as the one that hung over Thuron; the third flag was too far away to allow its character to be discerned. The line of peasants winding up from the river and stretching along the banks had taken up the cheering which echoed lustily from hill to hill. It was evident that that most infectious malady, the war spirit, was abroad, for fighting songs, ringing and truculent, with swinging, inspiring choruses, were being chanted in the village and along the river. Some rumour or suspicion of what was going forward had undoubtedly permeated the mass of people collected within and under shadow of the castle; Rodolph felt the enthusiasm of coming battle in the air. Yet these people had always been tyrannised over by the Black Count, and this was probably the first time he had paid for what he took from them. Nevertheless, they were shouting for him, and woe betide the man who now raised his voice against him. As Rodolph looked on in wonderment, the Black Count himself came up the steps that led to the lofty promenade, and there was a gleam of fierce delight in his dark eye as he swept it over the animated scene. Some of the songs sung had evidently not been intended as complimentary to the Count when they were originally composed, but now the singers had either forgotten the first import of the words, or had added others that turned censure into laudation. The burden of the chorus in one of them was "The Devil is black," a line oft repeated, and ending with a phrase which betokened the ultimate fate of his sable majesty. Although some unthinkingly, carried away by the enthusiasm of the occasion, repeated the old ending, the majority gave the new rendering, which was to the effect that their devil was more than a match for any other devil in existence. The Count as he approached the two young people standing