countess blushed at her poverty—not having anything with which to entertain the knight and his suite. But as he never drank wine, he only went to beg a draught of water from the cool well of the castle, as he used to do on former visits, and from which habit he was by his friends jocosely called the “Water Knight.” Bertha sped, on a sign of her mother, to the well, filled a pitcher and poured the water into a crystal cup for the knight. He took it from her pretty little hand, put it to his mouth at the same place where she had previously kissed it with her purple lips, and pledged her in a bumper. During this occurence the countess found herself in great perplexity at her inability to present any refreshment to her guests, but bethinking herself that there was in the castle garden a ripe water melon, she instantly went and plucked it, then placing it on an earthen plate which she decked with vine leaves, surrounding it with the prettiest and most odorous flowers. When hastening to present it to her guests, she found the castle yard deserted—neither man at arms nor horses were to be seen, no knight, no squire was there. She called for her daughter Bertha but no reply—she searched for her all over the castle, but in vain. In the vestibule were three sacks, made of new linen,
C
