As you see, I went out unarmed, and it would not be well done to cross swords here." "Certainly not," Heinz assented.

"But many days and nights will follow this moonlight one, and that you may have little difficulty in finding me whenever you desire, know that my name is Heinrich--or to more intimate friends, among whom you might easily be numbered if we don't deprive each other of the pleasure of meeting again under the sun--Heinz Schorlin." "Schorlin ?" asked Wolff in surprise.

"Then you are the knight who, when a beardless boy, cut down on the Marchfield the Bohemian whose lance had slain the Emperor's charger, the Swiss who aided him to mount the steed of Ramsweg of Thurgau--your uncle, if I am not mistaken--and then took the wild ride to bring up the tall Capeller, with his troops, who so gloriously decided the day." "And," laughed Heinz, "who was finally borne off the field as dead before the fulfilment of his darling wish to redden Swiss steel with royal Bohemian blood.

This closed the chronicle, Herr--what shall I call you ?" "Wolff Eysvogel, of Nuremberg," replied the other.
"Aha! A son of the rich merchant where the Duke of Gulich found quarters ?" cried the Swiss, lifting his cap bordered with fine miniver.
"May confusion seize me! If I were not my father's son, I wouldn't mind changing places with you.

It must make the neck uncommonly stiff, methinks, to have a knightly escutcheon on door and breast, and yet be able to fling florins and zecchins broadcast without offending the devil by an empty purse.