qual, and sometimes
superior. You shall try a good vintage of both. How did you come by
Oberweseler so far north as Stolzenfels?"

"Simply because I was so forward, counting on the good nature of my
friend of Treves, that I stipulated for Oberweseler."

"Ah! I am anxious to know why."

"For reasons of history, not of the palate. A fair English Princess was
guest of Stolzenfels long ago, and this wine was served to her."

"In that case," returned the Count, "I also shall fall back on history,
and first order brimming tankards of old Caub. Really, Madam," he said,
turning to Hildegunde, "we should have had Royalty here to meet you,
instead of two old wine-bibbers like his Highness and myself."

The girl looked startled at this mention of Royalty, bringing to her
mind the turbulent events of yesterday. Nevertheless, with great
composure, she smiled at her enthusiastic host.

"Still," went on the Count, "if we are not royal ourselves, 'tis a
degree we are empowered to confer, and, indeed, may be very shortly
called upon to bestow. That is true from what I hear, is it not, your
Highness?"

"Yes," replied the Archbishop gravely.

"Well, as I was about to say, this Castle belonged to the Falkensteins,
and was sold by them to the Palatinate. Rumor, legend, history, call it
what you like, asserts that the most beautiful woman ever born on the
Rhine was Countess Beatrice of Falkenstein. But when I drink to the
toast I am about to offer I shall, Madam," he smiled at Hildegunde,
"assert that the legend no longer holds, a contention I am prepared to
maintain by mortal combat. Know then that the Earl of Cornwall, who was
elected King of Germany in 1257, met Beatrice of Falkenstein in this
Castle. The meeting was brought about by the Electors themselves, who,
stupid matchmakers, attempted to coerce each into a marriage with the
other. Beatrice refused to marry a foreigner.

"The Chronicles are a little vague about the most interesting part of
the negotiations, but minutely plain about the outcome. In some manner
the Earl and Beatrice met, and he became instantly enamored of her. This
is the portion so deplorably slurred by these old monkish writers. I
need hardly tell you that the Earl himself succeeded where the seven
Electors failed. Beatrice became Cornwall's wife and Queen of Germany,
and they lived happily ever afterwards.

"I give you the toast!" cried the chivalrous Count Palatine, rising. "To
the cherished memory o