"A false rumour, sir counsellor; which has, nevertheless, induced me to keep my room for a few days," replied the count, in a jocular tone. "Here are life and merriment, I see; and one may be given up for death, if he do not find himself well here. Be pleased to present me to your noble lady and daughter; and, when the dance is over, to her grace the queen." The latter words he added in a subdued tone, and drew a long breath after having uttered them, his eyes again turning towards the dancing saloon. "As you command," replied the lively old knight, with a sportive smile. "It is easily to be seen what portion of the human family Count Gerhard sets the highest value upon. My daughter, I perceive, is now standing up for the dance; but I can present you to my wife immediately, if you please." Count Gerhard had not heard a single word. He stared, like one in a dream, into the dancing-saloon, where the fair queen had, just at that instant, curtsied with noble dignity to her princely partner, and, on his arm, moved down the room to her seat, amidst the dazzling young daughters of the chivalrous guests, and eclipsing them all with her loveliness. A new piece of music and song was commenced, and a new couple were in motion on the floor. The lady was Sir John's daughter, Cecilia. She could not vie with the queen in dazzling beauty and majesty, but quite equalled her in the spirit and grace of her motions. With an earnestness that better suited the song than her partner's smiling mien, she regarded, with her dark, lustrous eyes, the knight who extended his hand to her, and who, in gracefulness and courtesy, seemed to vie with Duke Waldemar. This polite cavalier was the duke's drost, Sir Tuko Abildgaard, a bold and ambitious gentleman, celebrated for his influence over the duke, and as famed for his good fortune with the fair sex as for his fickleness in love, and his haughty, soaring claims to distinction. He appeared intent on distinguishing the Lady Cecilia among all the ladies at court. He seemed to give but little heed to the song to which they danced: it was a sweet and melancholy air, to the ballad of Sir Sverkel's unfortunate love to his unknown sister. Drost Peter listened to it with much interest; and even the otherwise merry Count Gerhard stood silent and serious, while the young damsels sang:-- "Pray thou, hart, and pray thou, hind, That I may forget the little Kirstine; Pray thou, hart, and pray thou, roe, That I may forget my true love so." "The foul fiend!" muttered Count Gerhard to himself; and, to his own astonishment, his eyes almost overflowed as the young damsels continued: "He prayed the hart, and prayed the hind, But never was the maiden from his mind; He prayed the hart, and prayed the roe, But could not forget his true love so."