ol's tent, I doubt not."

The mask became half-quizzical, half-friendly, as her cheeks mantled
beneath his regard. Was it but quiet avengement against a jestress
whose tongue had been unsparing enough, even to him, the day before?
Certes, here stood now only a rosy maid, robbed of her spirit; or a
_folle_, struck witless, and Charles' face softened, but immediately
grew stern, as his mind abruptly passed from wandering jestress and
fleeing fool to matters of more moment.

Under vow to the Virgin, the emperor had announced he would not draw
sword himself that day, but, seated beneath a canopy of velvet,
overlooking the valley, he so far compromised with conscience as
personally to direct the preparations for the conflict. On his sable
throne, surrounded by funereal hangings, how white and furrowed, how
harassed with many cares, he appeared in the glare of the morn to the
young girl! Was this he who held nearly all Europe in his palm? who
between martial commands talked of Holy Orders, the Apostolic See and
the Seven Sacraments to his priestly confessor?

And from aloof she studied him, with new doubts and misgiving, her
thoughts running fast; and anon bent her eyes to the hill on the other
side of the valley. In her condition of mind, confused as before a
crisis, it was a distinct relief when toward noon word was brought that
the free baron was approaching. Soon, not far distant, the _cortege_
of Louis of Hochfels was seen; at the front, flashing helmets and
breastplates; behind, a cavalcade of ladies on horseback and litters,
above which floated many flags and banners.

Would he come on; would he turn back? Many opinions were rife.

"Oh," cried a page with golden hair, "there will be no battle after
all."

And truly, confronted by the aspect of the emperor's camp, the marauder
had at first hesitated; but if the dangers before him were great, those
behind were greater. Accordingly, leaving the cavalcade of the
princess, her maids and attendants, the free baron of Hochfels,
surrounded by his own trusted troops, dashed forward arrogantly into
the valley, bent upon sweeping aside even the opposition of Charles
himself.

"Yonder's a daring knave, your Majesty," with some perturbation
observed the prelate who stood near the emperor's chair.

"Certes, he tilts at fame, or death, with a bold lance," replied
Charles. "Would that Robert of Friedwald were there to cry him quits."

While thus he spoke, as calm as