By her side stood her daughter, a girl of about fourteen years old.

Malcolm had already stated his name to the count, and the latter now presented him to his wife.
"We have heard so much of the Scottish soldiers," she said as she held out her hand, over which Malcolm bent deeply, "that we have all been curious to see them, little dreaming that a band of them would appear here like good angels in our hour of danger." "It was a fortunate accident which found me within reach when I heard of the approach of the Imperialists.

The names of the Count and Countess of Mansfeld are so well known and so highly esteemed through Protestant Germany that I was sure that the king would approve of my hastening to lend what aid I might to you without orders from him." "I see you have learned to flatter," the countess said smiling.

"This is my daughter Thekla." "I am glad to see you," the girl said; "but I am a little disappointed.
I had thought that the Scots were such big fierce soldiers, and you are not very big--not so tall as papa; and you do not look fierce at all--not half so fierce as my cousin Caspar, who is but a boy." "That is very rude, Thekla," her mother said reprovingly, while Malcolm laughed gaily.
"You are quite right, Fraulein Thekla.

I know I do not look very fierce, but I hope when my moustache grows I shall come up more nearly to your expectations.