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 to leave my property and possessions.” “No,” replied one of the guests; “but have you not a lovely daughter, who can give you just such a son-in-law as your heart would desire?” “True,” replied the knight of Aarburg, sighing; “but I would rather have had a son: a son-in-law carries off his wife to his own castle, and the old father sits deserted and solitary in his empty hall. If I had a son now—a son, for instance, like Baldwin there—I should look out for a proper wife, and place him over this new lordship, or let him dwell in the castle of my ancestors, where there is room enough for a whole generation.”

Sir Baldwin’s courage rose at these words—it had already been considerably elevated by the quantity of wine which he had drunk; he did not hesitate as to how he should begin his speech, but commenced the attack straight-forward: “Father Thimo,” said he, “what hinders you from making me your son?—Give me your daughter, the beautiful Bertha, to wife, and let us dwell in one of your castles, or, if it please you better, here at Aarburg: you shall have children and grandchildren to your heart’s content.”

But instead of accepting this friendly offer in a friendly manner, the knight of Aarburg turned coolly round, and showed a very long face to the speaker; and “Do you think so, knight of Heerwart?” was the only answer he deigned to give the petitioner, who beheld him quietly resume, without further remark, an indifferent conversation with one of his guests. Baldwin’s anger rose at the coolness with which the knight of Aarburg received his courtship. In