The young man was not to blame if, in view of this confession, he carried out the fairy legend in detail, and kissed his Dornröschen nestling so contentedly beside him. But when he clasped her closer, calling her his 'dear little betrothed,' Gerlinda started and grew very pale. "Ah, Hans, dear Hans, it will not do! I had quite forgotten; we never can marry each other." "And why not?" "Oh, papa never will allow it. Why, we date from the tenth century." "The tenth century presents no obstacle to my marriage in the nineteenth. Of course there will be a row with the Freiherr; I am quite prepared for that; but I am proof against storms of that kind. I know from experience what it is to brave a furious papa and have my own way in the end." "But we never shall succeed," the little châtelaine moaned, drearily. "We shall be just like Gertrudis von Eberstein and Dietrich Fernbacher, who loved each other so dearly. Oh, Gertrudis was married to the Lord of Ringstetten, and Dietrich went on a crusade against the infidels, and never came back." "That was very silly of Dietrich," rejoined Hans. "What business had he with the infidels? He ought to have stayed at home and married his Gertrudis." "But she could not espouse him, because he was not of knightly descent, but a merchant's son," cried Gerlinda, the tears gathering in her eyes, while she dutifully repeated the exact words of the ancient chronicle. "That was in the Middle Ages," Hans said, soothingly. "They are far more sensible in such matters nowadays. I shall certainly not march against the infidels. The most I shall attempt will be the siege of the Ebersburg, and I shall surely carry it by storm." "Good heavens! Papa! I hear his step!" exclaimed Gerlinda, freeing herself from the arm Hans had clasped about her, and running to the window. "Oh, Hans, what shall we do now?" "Present ourselves to him as a betrothed pair and ask his blessing," the young man promptly replied. "It has got to be done, and the sooner the better." The heavy, shuffling step of the Freiherr was in fact audible in the next room, with the tap of his cane on the floor. He opened the door and stood as if paralyzed on the threshold. He saw the man 'of no name, no family,' with his daughter; at a respectful distance from her, to be sure, but the mere fact of their being together was enough to rouse his indignation. He advanced slowly into the room. "Ah, Herr Hans Wehlau!" he said, emphasizing the name with contempt. Hans bowed. "At your service, Herr von Eberstein."