“How strange!” she replied. “You cannot deny that he called himself your man when he was in Isenland.” “Oh! he only said that to help me in my wooing,” said Gunther, feeling uncomfortable. “You only say that,” was her answer, “to make your sister seem to have a higher rank. But however that may be, I should very much like to see them both at our court.” “Very well,” he answered kindly, “I will send messengers to invite them to the Midsummer feast, and they will not refuse to come.” He went away, and did as he had said. Brunhild remained alone, plunged in thought. “There he goes,” she muttered. “The man that conquered the once heroic maiden, who thought herself strong enough to brave the battle like the Valkyrs of old. And he, what is he but a weak reed, moved hither and thither by every breath of wind that blows? How much greater Siegfried is! He is a hero with the world at his feet. But then a vassal! To be sure, none such could dare to raise his eyes to the queen of Isenland. Had he done so, she must have scorned him, and would scorn him to this very hour.” Siegfried and his party came to Worms at the appointed time. There was no end to the feasting, tilting, and minstrelsy. Old Sigmund renewed his youth again, and delighted to talk of old days with the Lady Ute, whom he had known as a child. The young queens were always together, at church, or at the feast, or else in the gallery overlooking the tilt-yard. The only amusement to which Chriemhild did not accompany her sister-in-law was the chase. One day when they were sitting together in the gallery watching the feats of agility and skill shown by the warriors, she said in the joy of her heart: “Is not my Siegfried glorious among warriors, like a moon among the pale stars of night? He is a royal hero.” “He is well deserving of your praise,” replied Brunhild, “but still he must yield the first place to my husband.” “Of a truth,” answered Chriemhild, “my brother is a bold warrior, but he does not equal my husband in feats of arms.” “Why,” said Brunhild, “did not win he the prize at Isenstein, while Siegfried remained with the ship?” “Do you mean to accuse the Nibelung hero, the dragon-queller, of cowardice?” cried the young wife indignantly. “He cannot stand so high as the king of Burgundy,” answered Brunhild, “for he is not his own man, but owes fealty to my husband.” “You lie, proud woman!” exclaimed Chriemhild, her face flushing with anger, “you lie most insolently. My brother would never have let me marry a man who was not free. Siegfried owes no man allegiance, neither for Nibelungland nor yet for Netherland. The first kingdom he conquered with his own right hand, the other is his inheritance; and I, his queen, may hold my head as high as you.” “Try it, chatterer! I shall always walk into church before you.”