_Fritz_. Oh, yes; but he has disappeared Long from the world's eye, and, perhaps, the world. A prodigal son, beneath his father's ban For the last twenty years; for whom his sire Refused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefore, If living, he must chew the husks still. But The Baron would find means to silence him, Were he to re-appear: he's politic, And has much influence with a certain court. 90 _Iden._ He's fortunate. _Fritz_. 'Tis true, there is a grandson, Whom the late Count reclaimed from his son's hands, And educated as his heir; but, then, His birth is doubtful. _Iden._ How so? _Fritz_. His sire made A left-hand, love, imprudent sort of marriage, With an Italian exile's dark-eyed daughter: Noble, they say, too; but no match for such A house as Siegendorf's. The grandsire ill Could brook the alliance; and could ne'er be brought To see the parents, though he took the son. 100 _Iden._ If he's a lad of mettle, he may yet Dispute your claim, and weave a web that may Puzzle your Baron to unravel. _Fritz_. Why, For mettle, he has quite enough: they say, He forms a happy mixture of his sire And grandsire's qualities,--impetuous as The former, and deep as the latter; but The strangest is, that he too disappeared Some months ago. _Iden._ The devil he did! _Fritz_. Why, yes: It must have been at _his_ suggestion, at 110 An hour so critical as was the eve Of the old man's death, whose heart was broken by it. _Iden._ Was there no cause assigned? _Fritz_. Plenty, no doubt, And none, perhaps, the true one. Some averred It was to seek his parents; some because The old man held his spirit in so strictly (But that could scarce be, for he doted on him); A third believed he wished to serve in war, But, peace being made soon after his departure, He might have since returned, were that the motive; 120 A fourth set charitably have surmised, As there was something strange and mystic in him, That in the wild exuberance of his nature He had joined the black bands[172], who lay waste Lusatia, The mountains of Bohemia and Silesia, Since the last years of war had dwindled into A kind of general condottiero system Of bandit-warfare; each troop with its chief, And all against mankind. _Iden._ That cannot be. A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury, 130 To risk his life and honours with disbanded Soldiers and desperadoes!