the privileges of the robber knights and bandit nobles were sadly
shorn by the progressive spirit of modern civilization. With a total
disregard of the immunities of chivalry, modern legislators declared
that it was as great a crime for a baron to seize on a herd of cattle
as for a peasant to steal a sheep. Hence the great families along the
Rhine went into decay. The castles were dismantled, many noble names
died out, very few remained, the representatives of the ancestral
glory of olden times.

Among them was the baron. He had been a soldier and a courtier in his
youth, had spent some time abroad, and was about forty when he married
a lady of the same age, and settled down in the old family castle of
Rosenberg. Here he lorded it over the surrounding valley, the simple
inhabitants of which, though exempt from all feudal obligations, yet
in some sort regarded themselves as vassals of the baron. They made
him presents of fish, accompanied him to the chase, and lent him a
willing hand, whenever he required assistance at the castle.

The baron, though he had the wherewithal to live comfortably enough,
was yet a poor representative of the race he sprang from. His army
consisted of a few farm servants, his cavalry of a ploughboy on a
cart-horse, and his navy of a fishing boat. But, on the whole, he was
happy. He passed his days either in trimming his vines or hunting, and
his evenings in poring over mildewed parchments or books of heraldry,
hunting up long pedigrees, and puffing a monstrous meerschaum till the
atmosphere was as dense as the interior of a smokehouse. The lady
Mathilde embroidered from morning till night.

They had, however, a common source of grief. Fate had not blessed them
with children. The lady yearned for the companionship of a daughter;
the baron mourned at the prospect of the extinction of his name for
want of a male heir.

It was while pondering on this subject one day, as they were strolling
out together, that the baron and his lady came upon the cottage of an
old soldier named Karl Mueller, who cultivated a little vineyard not
far from the castle.

The old man was seated on a bench before his door, smoking, and so
deeply plunged in revery, that he was not aware of the approach of
visitors till the baron touched him on the shoulder.

"In a brown study, Karl?" said the baron.

"I have enough to think about," returned the soldier "I'm getting old,
and one thing troubles me."

"What's that, m