A few minutes later Conrad was on his way to the picture-gallery, while Ulrich remained to enjoy the company of his betrothed. The first thing Moida did was to run out and fetch him a mug of beer. This may seem too trivial a fact to relate; nevertheless, truth may as well be told. She knew that in Tyrol he had had only water or wine to drink; and what can equal Munich beer? As Ulrich quietly sipped the delicious beverage, her quick eye ran over his buttons. She took them all in at a glance, and in another moment Moida’s needle was busy mending a rent in his sleeve. But while the girl sewed, she ever and anon peeped up at his face, and thought to herself: “In the whole kingdom of Bavaria there is nobody can compare with my Ulrich.” And, moreover, full of common sense as Moida was, there was nothing she admired more than the two sword-cuts on her dear boy’s cheek, in shape like a cross; and well did she remember the day when he received them, now five years ago. For, like most German students, Ulrich had belonged to a corps (his was the Teutonia), and occasionally engaged in a duel. It was on that memorable day that he addressed her the first tender word, after having had his wounds sewed up; while Moida, as she listened with fluttering heart and drooping eyes, thought to herself: “I am the third one to whom he has said this. Oh! I wonder which of us will win?” Then she pretended that she did not care a straw for him; whereupon Ulrich presented her with a beautiful nosegay—four florins it cost him—and the rest we need not narrate. “By the way, how is Caro?” inquired Ulrich, after holding the glass to her lips and making Moida take a sip of the beer. “As frisky as if he were a puppy,” answered the latter, highly pleased at the question. Ulrich knew it would please her. “Well, wouldn’t it be nice to have the old dog settled at Loewenstein, where he might get plenty of fresh air and be outdoors as much as he chose?” added the youth. “Ay; but what chance is there of that?—unless you were to take him; and he’d be rather troublesome.” “No pet of yours would ever trouble me,” rejoined Ulrich. “And let me tell you, Moida, strange things happen in the world.” With this he proceeded to reveal how much Conrad Seinsheim admired a certain young lady whom he had seen in the Pinakothek. “’Tis the very one you heard him say that miniature is so like; and I know he is gone there now purposely to see her again. And it must be Walburga, for isn’t she copying Carlo Dolce’s picture of Innocence?” Leaving Ulrich and his betrothed to discuss the possibility of a union between a Von Loewenstein and a Seinsheim, let us follow the footsteps of Conrad.