what station and rank I am; whether I am your equal in birth and fortune, or whether only a borrowed glitter dazzles before your eyes. It becomes not a man of your station to promise anything thoughtlessly; but sacredly to fulfil his promise according to the usage of noble hearts.”
Knight Conrad seized her quickly by the hand, pressed her to his bosom, and fondly exclaimed, “That I promise you, upon my honour and salvation! If you,” continued he, “were the child of the lowest man; only a pure and innocent maiden; I will honourably make you my wife, and promote you to wealth and honour.” Then he took a diamond ring, of great worth, from his finger, gave it into her hand as a pledge of fidelity, took the first kiss from her pure lips, and said, “That you may not mistrust my promise, I invite you to my house in three days, where I will appoint my friends, the prelates and lords, and other noblemen, to witness our marriage.” Matilda, however, resolutely declined this, because the quick current of the knight’s love did not altogether satisfy her, and she wished first to prove the constancy of his affection. He did not cease to press her for her consent; but she would neither say yes nor no. As on the previous day, the company separated at morning dawn; Matilda disappeared; and the knight, from whose eyes sleep had fled, called his housekeeper very early, and gave her orders to prepare a splendid feast. As death, that dreaded skeleton, wanders with its scythe through palaces and thatched cottages, and unrelentingly mows down and kills all it meets; so Dame Gertrude, the evening before the feast, armed her inexorable hand with the slaughtering knife, to the destruction of chickens and ducks, and bore in her hand, like the fates, the life or death of the tenantry of the poultry-yard. By her polished and murderous steel, the careless inhabitants fell by dozens; for the last time their wings fluttered mournfully, and chickens, and pigeons, and foolish capons, and even turkey-cocks yielded up their lives. Miss Matilda had so many to pick, to scald, and to cook, that she was obliged to be up the whole night; still she cared not for the trouble, for she knew that the grand banquet was all on her account.
The feast began; the host moved quickly about to every comer in the hall, and, whenever the bell rang, he expected his unknown beloved to enter the door; but, when it was opened, only a prelate entered, or a solemn matron, or a venerable bailiff. The guests had been long assembled, and the server had not yet served up the meats. Knight Conrad still tarried for his beautiful bride; but as she delayed so long, with secret vexation he directed the server to arrange the table. They sat down and found one extra dish; but nobody could guess who it was that had slighted the invitation of their host. Every moment the knight’s cheerfulness diminished, he could no longer banish the look of dejection from his forehead, although he exerted himself by a forced
