"And she will become it rarely," answered Sigismund. "Were she but a score, or a score and a half years younger, she were a gallant wife for a Swiss landholder. I would warrant her to keep his household in high order." "She will reward thee liberally for recovering her property," said Arthur, scarce suppressing a smile at the idea of the proud Margaret becoming the housewife of a Swiss shepherd. "How--reward!" said the Swiss. "Bethink thee I am Sigismund Biederman, the son of the Landamman of Unterwalden--I am not a base lanzknecht, to be paid for courtesy with piastres. Let her grant me a kind word of thanks, or the matter of a kiss, and I am well contented." "A kiss of her hand, perhaps," said Arthur, again smiling at his friend's simplicity. "Umph, the hand! Well, it may do for a queen of some fifty years and odd, but would be poor homage to a Queen of May." Arthur here brought back the youth to the subject of his battle, and learned that the slaughter of the Duke's forces in the flight had been in no degree equal to the importance of the action. "Many rode off on horseback," said Sigismund; "and our German _reiters_ flew on the spoil, when they should have followed the chase. And besides, to speak truth, Charles's camp delayed our very selves in the pursuit; but had we gone half a mile farther, and seen our friends hanging on trees, not a Confederate would have stopped from the chase while he had limbs to carry him in pursuit." "And what has become of the Duke?" "Charles has retreated into Burgundy, like a boar who has felt the touch of the spear, and is more enraged than hurt; but is, they say, sad and sulky. Others report that he has collected all his scattered army, and immense forces besides, and has screwed his subjects to give him money, so that we may expect another brush. But all Switzerland will join us after such a victory." "And my father is with him?" said Arthur. "Truly he is, and has in a right godly manner tried to set afoot a treaty of peace with my own father. But it will scarce succeed. Charles is as mad as ever; and our people are right proud of our victory, and so they well may. Nevertheless, my father forever preaches that such victories, and such heaps of wealth, will change our ancient manners, and that the ploughman will leave his labour to turn soldier. He says much about it; but why money, choice meat and wine, and fine clothing should do so much harm, I cannot bring my poor brains to see--And many better heads than mine are as much puzzled.--Here's to you, friend Arthur!--This is choice liquor!" "And what brings you and your general, Prince Ferrand, post to Nancy?" said the young Englishman. "Faith, you are yourself the cause of our journey." "I the cause?" said Arthur.--"Why, how could that be?"