e been guilty of such a deed, and with a curse upon
himself on his bearded lips he approached the door; but when half way to
it he stopped again and looked up to the second-story windows behind
which the twins slept. With what delight he had always thought of them!
But this time the recollection of the little boys was spoiled by Countess
Cordula's message to his wife to rear them so that they would not be like
him, their father.

An evil wish! And yet the warmest love could have devised no better one
in behalf of the true welfare of the boys.

He told himself so as he passed beneath the escutcheon through the heavy
open door with its iron ornaments. He was expected, the steward told him,
but he arched his broad breast as if preparing for a wrestling match,
pulled his mustache still longer, and went up the stairs.

CHAPTER XVI.

The spacious, lofty sitting-room which Seitz Siebenburg entered looked
very magnificent. Gay Flanders tapestries hung on the walls. The ceiling
was slightly vaulted, and in the centre of each mesh of the net designed
upon it glittered a richly gilded kingfisher from the family coat of
arms. Bear and leopard skins lay on the cushions, and upon the shelf
which surrounded three sides of the apartment stood costly vases, gold
and silver utensils, Venetian mirrors and goblets. The chairs and
furniture were made of rare woods inlaid with ebony and mother of pearl,
brought by way of Genoa from Moorish Spain. In the bow window jutting out
into the street, where the old grandmother sat in her armchair, two green
and yellow parrots on brass perches interrupted the conversation,
whenever it grew louder, with the shrill screams of their ugly voices.

Siebenburg found all the family except Wolff and the twins. His wife was
half sitting, half reclining, on a divan. When Seitz entered she raised
her head from the white arm on which it had rested, turned her oval face
with its regular features towards him, and gathered up the fair locks
which, released from their braids, hung around her in long, thick
tresses. Her eyes showed that she had been weeping violently, and as her
husband approached she again sobbed painfully.

Her grandmother seemed annoyed by her lamentations for, pointing to
Isabella's tears, she exclaimed sharply, glancing angrily at Siebenburg:

"It's a pity for every one of them!"

The knight's blood boiled at the words, but they strengthened his
courage. He felt relieved from any co