Count Gerhard's absent gaze into the dancing-saloon caused old Sir John to cast an attentive look in the same direction, and the sight of his daughter's undisguised interest in Sir Abildgaard did not seem to please him. His cheerful countenance suddenly assumed an air of deep seriousness, while the damsels now sang:-- "The knight he from his land was driven, And the lady to a cloister given." Both the old and the younger knight appeared absorbed in the same dreamy mood which the melancholy song was calculated to produce, but each in a different manner, according to the ideas they associated therewith. Yet, in the midst of the general merriment and splendour of the festivity, there were, apparently, but few who gave heed to the tenor of the song. Its conclusion, in particular, affected Drost Peter to melancholy. He involuntarily laid hold of the ruby rosary on his breast, that served to remind him of his half-forgotten child-bride, while the damsels sang:-- "A bird so small from the white strand flew, And she sang, Where is my heart's love true? A bird so small o'er the sea flew wide, And he sang, O where is my own true bride? For chastest maiden I dree." "It is allowed that you are a lover of the dance and song, illustrious Count Gerhard," said old Sir John, in his usual social tone, and turning, with a cheerful countenance, to his abstracted guest. "If you wish, now I shall conduct you to the queen and the young ladies." Count Gerhard bowed stiffly, and followed the old knight, without observing the breach of propriety of which he had been guilty, in not greeting the noble and matronly Lady Ingefried, who went round among the guests, and received their salutations, accompanied by a waiting-maid, bearing a silver salver with filled wine-cups. While Drost Peter, as a well-known and daily guest, saluted the worthy house-mother, old Sir John and his distinguished attendant, before they reached the dancing-saloon, were stopped by two handsomely attired youths in scarlet jackets, with gold chains about their fine linen collars. They were both flushed with anger, and had come from the dice-table, where they had had a dispute. The one was the eleven years' old Prince Erik, who, from his second year, had taken the name of king, and the other, his brother, Junker Christopher, two years his junior, and half a head shorter, but apparently his superior in strength, though not in sprightliness and beauty. "You shall decide between us, Sir John: you know what right is," said the little king, warmly. "Suppose the gold dice are islands and countries, and the counters knights and swains: have I, as eldest, the privilege of taking first? And suppose, further, that I, with my knights and swains, surround and conquer all Christopher's islands and countries, are they, by right, mine? If he will merely admit that, he shall readily have them back again. What care I for the dice!"