t I ought properly
to have killed you; but things have now all turned out different."
Greatly confused, Master Martin replied, that it was after all better
that he had not been killed; of the little bit of a cut with the adze
he had made no account. Now when Master Martin with his new guests
entered the room where the bridal pair and the rest were assembled,
they were all agreeably surprised at the beautiful lady, who was so
exactly like the bride, even down to the minutest feature, that they
might have been taken for twin-sisters. The knight approached the bride
with courtly grace and said, "Grant, lovely Rose, that Conrad be
present here on this auspicious day. You are not now angry with the
wild thoughtless journeyman who was nigh bringing a great trouble upon
you, are you?" But as the bridegroom and the bride and Master Martin
were looking at each other in great wonder and embarrassment, old Herr
von Spangenberg said, "Well, well, I see I must help you out of your
dream. This is my son Conrad, and here is his good, true wife, named
Rose, like the lovely bride. Call our conversation to mind, Master
Martin. I had a very special reason for asking you whether you would
refuse your Rose to my son. The young puppy was madly in love with her,
and he induced me to lay aside all other considerations and make up my
mind to come and woo her on his behalf. But when I told him in what an
uncourteous way I had been dismissed, he in the most nonsensical way
stole into your house in the guise of a cooper, intending to win her
favour and then actually to run away with her. But--you cured him with
that good sound blow across his back; my best thanks for it. And now he
has found a lady of rank who most likely is, after all, _the_ Rose who
was properly in his heart from the beginning."

Meanwhile the lady had with graceful kindness greeted the bride, and
hung a valuable pearl necklace round her neck as a wedding present.
"See here, dear Rose," she then said, taking a very withered bunch of
flowers out from amongst the fresh blooming ones which she wore at her
bosom--"see here, dear Rose, these are the flowers that you once gave
my Conrad as the prize of victory; he kept them faithfully until he saw
me, then he was unfaithful to you and gave them to me; don't be angry
with me for it." Rose, her cheeks crimson, cast down her eyes in shy
confusion, saying, "Oh! noble lady, how can you say so? Could the
Junker then ever really love a poor