The simple and child-like energy, the tranquil consciousness of right, which were visible on Sir Otto’s countenance when he spoke these words, reminded one of the angels’ heads carved in marble by the old devout artists of Germany or Italy. An involuntary emotion of awe, an influence, breathed as it were from the regions of eternal life, was felt through all the party there assembled; so that even the proud and gay Count de Vinciguerra could not lift his eyes from the ground. Don Hernandez meanwhile had risen from his chair, and gone round, unperceived, behind Sir Otto. He touched him on the shoulder, and, looking back, the youth saw the kindly countenance and dark eyes of the Castilian gleaming on him with an expression of triumph and approbation. After a long silence, the Chevalier de Montfaucon also rose, and addressed himself to the German youth: “Sir Knight,” said he, “you have indeed made us all heartily ashamed, and therefore merit our gratitude and praise; for the very tones of your voice sounded on our ears like the silvery music of a chapel-bell, warning us to self-reproval, to humility, and devotion. Accept, therefore, my sincerest thanks, and believe me, that I rejoice in possessing, even for a short space, such a jewel and mirror of knighthood within my castle.” Thereupon he made to Sir Otto a low and solemn obeisance. All the knights and other guests rose at the same time, and followed his example. Sir Otto was confused, and blushed deeply. “Noble sirs,” said he, “I believe that you pay this homage to Heaven only, to whose mandates I have chanced to direct your attention. Were it otherwise, a humble and inexperienced youth, such as I am, would indeed ill deserve such honour.” “Valiant stranger,” answered the Knight of Montfaucon, “we are unwilling to allow that you should speak of yourself so unjustly. May we beg to know your name, and, if it so please you, to hear the story of your past life?” “Should I ever have a story worth relating,” answered Sir Otto, “and what the story may be, will depend on your renowned and victorious arm, Sir Knight of Montfaucon. Can you still remember the young squire on the banks of the Danube, who was present during that eventful evening, when you so gloriously overcame the powerful Count Archimbald of Waldeck? I wear now the golden spurs; nor have the three strokes of a knightly sword on my shoulders, nor a moonlight watch, been forgotten.”