While they were singing, the door was opened; but Lady Ingé was thinking only of the old heroic ballad that her mother had sung to her when a child, and which always led her to fancy a king like Waldemar the Great, and a castle like Flynderborg, where she was sitting, the only castle she was acquainted with. The bold notes of the song, and the remembrances of her childhood which it awakened within her, always put her in a gay and happy frame of mind; and she felt herself secure in the castle, which the king ruled with his warriors bold. Upon this occasion, the song had the usual inspiriting effect. She had forgotten all that so recently disturbed her: her eyes sparkled with lively animation; and the maidens could only give ear to her, while she sang alone, in her unusually deep-toned voice, in continuation:-- "Let the peasant rule his house and home, His steed, the warrior bold-- The king of Denmark ruleth The castle, keep, and hold. For the king he rules the castle." Lady Ingé and her maidens now for the first time noticed the tread of spurred heels on the floor. They rose in astonishment, and Lady Ingé with unwonted precipitation. They perceived three strangers in the middle of the hall. One was in the dress of a huntsman, and the two others were clad as citizens on a journey; nevertheless, under their gray cloaks they had long swords, like those worn by knights. It was Sir Rimaardson, with Drost Peter, and Sir Thorstenson. The mien and expression of the fair songstress, on their entrance, astonished them; and they remained standing, unwilling to interrupt her. They now approached with much politeness, and saluted the knight's fair daughter. Although they were not dressed as knights, their bearing and manners instantly denoted them to be men of high station and dignity; and Lady Ingé supposed them the distinguished guests of whom her father had spoken. The first glance at their interesting and friendly countenances gave her confidence. "You are welcome, noble sirs," said she, with entire self-possession, and returning their salute. "My father has been expecting you, and has ridden out to meet you. You must have come by another road than he anticipated. Your groom or squire has doubtless told you that there are no strangers here?" "We have only this instant arrived, noble lady," began Sir Thorstenson; "and our squire could have told us nothing regarding the state of the house, seeing that he has not yet penetrated farther than the stables. That your father has expected us, we cannot at all suppose: indeed, we thought we should have surprised him." "To our astonishment, the gates were opened to us without any one inquiring our name or business," said Sir Rimaardson. "This confidence is flattering. Your song, fair maiden, we would not dare to disturb: it was an assurance that, even although unknown, we should be welcome to you, as men true to our king and country."