There was an oily smoothness in the baron’s tone that did not ease the fear in Elise’s heart. Never had she known him to speak of her father, whom she could not remember, and, indeed, never before had he spoken to her at such length; for the baron was more at home in the saddle, or at tilt and foray, than with the women of his household. But he grew bland as any lawyer as he went on, with a gesture toward the parchments: “These be all the matters of what property thy father left, though little enough of it have I been able to save for thee, what with the wickedness of the times; and now this greedy thief of a robber count who calls himself Emperor of Germany, forsooth, seems minded to take even that little—and thee into the bargain, belike—an we find not a way to hinder him.” “Take me?” Elise said in some amaze, as the baron seemed waiting her word. “Ay. The fellow hath proclaimed me outlaw, though, for that matter, do I as easily proclaim him interloper. So, doubtless, ’tis even.” And the baron smiled grimly. “But that is by the way,” he added, his bland air coming back. “I’ve sent for thee on a weightier matter, Fräulein, for war and evil are all around us. I am none so young as once I was, and no man knows what may hap when this Swiss comes hunting the nobles of the land as he might chase wild dogs. ’Tis plain thou must have a younger protector, and”—here the baron gave a snicker as he looked at Elise—“all maids be alike in this, I trow, that to none is a husband amiss. Is’t not so?” Elise was by now turned white as death, and her slim fingers gripped hard on the chair-arms. “What meanst thou, sir?” she asked faintly. The baron’s uneasy blandness slipped away before his readier frown, yet still he smiled in set fashion. “Said I not,” he cried, with clownish attempt at lightness, “that all maids are alike? Well knowest thou my meaning; yet wouldst thou question and hedge, like all the others. Canst be ready for thy marriage by the day after to-morrow? We must needs have thee a sheltered wife ere the Swiss hawk pounce upon thee and leave thee plucked. Moreover, thy groom waxes impatient these days.” “And who is he?” Elise almost whispered, with lips made stiff by dread. “Who, indeed,” snarled the baron, losing his scant self-mastery, “but my nephew, to whom, as well thou knowest, thou hast been betrothed since thou wert a child?” The maiden sprang wildly to her feet, then cowered back in her chair and hid her face in her hands. “Conradt? Oh, never, never!” she moaned. “Come, come,” her guardian said, not unkindly. “Conradt is no beauty, I grant. God hath dealt hardly with him in a way that might well win him a maiden’s pity,” he added, with a sham piousness that made Elise shiver. “Thou must have a husband’s protection,” the baron went on. “Naught else will avail in these times. And ’twas thy father’s will.”