t glance of benevolence. Well
might a mother be proud of such a boy. Well might the brave Ludwig
exclaim, as he clasped the youth to his breast, "By St. Bugo of
Katzenellenbogen, Otto, thou art fit to be one of Coeur de Lion's
grenadiers!" and it was the fact: the "Childe" of Godesberg measured six
feet three.

He was habited for the evening meal in the costly, though simple attire
of the nobleman of the period--and his costume a good deal resembled
that of the old knight whose toilet we have just described; with the
difference of color, however. The pourpoint worn by young Otto of
Godesberg was of blue, handsomely decorated with buttons of carved and
embossed gold; his haut-de-chausses, or leggings, were of the stuff of
Nanquin, then brought by the Lombard argosies at an immense price from
China. The neighboring country of Holland had supplied his wrists and
bosom with the most costly laces; and thus attired, with an opera-hat
placed on one side of his head, ornamented with a single flower,
(that brilliant one, the tulip,) the boy rushed into his godfather's
dressing-room, and warned him that the banquet was ready.

It was indeed: a frown had gathered on the dark brows of the Lady
Theodora, and her bosom heaved with an emotion akin to indignation; for
she feared lest the soups in the refectory and the splendid fish now
smoking there were getting cold: she feared not for herself, but for her
lord's sake. "Godesberg," whispered she to Count Ludwig, as trembling
on his arm they descended from the drawing-room, "Godesberg is sadly
changed of late."

"By St. Bugo!" said the burly knight, starting, "these are the very
words the barber spake."

The lady heaved a sigh, and placed herself before the soup-tureen. For
some time the good Knight Ludwig of Hombourg was too much occupied in
ladling out the forced-meat balls and rich calves' head of which the
delicious pottage was formed (in ladling them out, did we say? ay,
marry, and in eating them, too,) to look at his brother-in-arms at the
bottom of the table, where he sat with his son on his left hand, and the
Baron Gottfried on his right.

The Margrave was INDEED changed. "By St. Bugo," whispered Ludwig to the
Countess, "your husband is as surly as a bear that hath been wounded o'
the head." Tears falling into her soup-plate were her only reply. The
soup, the turbot, the haunch of mutton, Count Ludwig remarked that the
Margrave sent all away untasted.

"The boteler will