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But we were snug under cover, and our appetite was fading away into history. Sperver had filled the "wieder komm," the "come again," with old wine of Brumberg; the sparkling froth fringed its ample borders; he presented it to me, saying "Drink the health of Yeri-Hans, lord of Nideck. Drink to the last drop, and show them that you mean it!" Which was done.
Still the disorder of Yeri-Hans, lord of Nideck, was taking its usual course, and this gave my only occupation any serious interest. All the particulars which Sperver had made me acquainted with appeared clearly before me; sometimes the count, waking up with a start, would half rise, and supported on his elbow, with neck outstretched and haggard eyes, would mutter, "She is coming, she is coming!"
But a truly historical importance belonged to this chamber in the long series of family portraits, filling almost entirely one side of the ancient library. All were there, men and women; from Hugh the Wolf to Yeri-Hans, the present owner; from the first rough daub of barbarous times to the perfect work of the best modern painters. My attention was naturally drawn in that direction.
I am here on behalf of the lord Yeri-Hans. I am in the execution of my duty, and you are putting yourself in the wrong." "Your duty!" cried the young man bitterly. "If you talk about your duty you will oblige me to do mine!" "Well, do it!" cried the huntsman, whose features were becoming disturbed with anger. "No," replied the baron, "I am not responsible to you, and you shall not come here!"
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