“_Je guette_,” replied the Burgundian; “that is to say, ‘I watch.’ One could hardly expect cow-herds to understand French.” “Now you shall not watch long for a flogging!” shouted the Switzer furiously. “Up, all who call themselves men! We will soon put a stop to his insolence.” “Good friend,” said the other, slowly drawing his sword, “take your milking stool between your horns and get you gone, else I will hack that hide of yours till it looks as patched as your jerkin.” “Am I a bull,” roared the herdsman, “that I should have horns to carry a milk stool? You shall pay dearly for that, you dog!” At this moment the officer brought the flat blade of his sword down upon the table with such a clang that all turned to look at him. He sternly bade the soldiers hold their peace and ordered them from the room. But the passions of the Switzers were now fully aroused. One of them seized a heavy oaken stool. “Here, you good for naught!” he cried, “take this milking stool between your horns!” and dashed it violently at the head of the Burgundian. At the same instant the officer flung himself between the combatants just in time to receive the full weight of the blow, which stretched him bleeding on the floor. A wild tumult at once arose that speedily brought the landlord to the spot, closely followed by a throng of curious deputies. Peace was at once restored, and the Burgundians with Iseli rushed to the relief of the victim, Hans Vögeli following. “Good God!” cried the latter suddenly, “it is my brother Heinrich. I might have known the vagabond would come to some such end.” “For shame!” said old Hassfurter, “to speak in such a way of your own brother.” “Nay, preach not to me,” retorted Vögeli; “this man who lies here before us is no longer my brother. I long ago cast him from my heart, and the city of Freiburg has banished all who did not return when they were summoned thither.” “That was no loss to you, methinks,” answered Hassfurter, “since you thereby acquired sole possession of your father’s house and properties, to which otherwise Heinrich would have been entitled to a share.” “Nonsense!” cried Vögeli furiously; “all the world knows that my father had already disinherited Heinrich.” The old man made no reply. He knelt down by the wounded officer, and after carefully examining his injury shook his head gravely, to the innkeeper’s great alarm. “Merciful Heaven!” he cried, “the town guard will soon be here, and I shall be punished for permitting this affray in my house. Hagenbach, too, will not fail to remember what has happened here to his officer.” “Have you no friend?” asked Hassfurter; “I mean one on whom you can rely, who would take care of this fellow for you? As for the Burgundians, gold will keep them silent concerning the affair. They are not altogether guiltless themselves, and would not escape punishment if the facts were known.”