Gottlieb beheld such a sunny twinkle across the
Goshawk's face at this hospitable array, that he gave the word of onset
without waiting for Berthold, and his guest immediately fell to, and did
not relax in his exertions for a full half-hour by the Cathedral clock,
eschewing the beer with a wry look made up of scorn and ruefulness, and
drinking a well-brimmed health in Rhine wine all round. Margarita was
pensive: Aunt Lisbeth on her guard. Gottlieb remembered Charles the
Great's counsel to Archbishop Turpin, and did his best to remain on earth
one of its lords dominant.
'Poor Berthold!' said he. ''Tis a good lad, and deserves his seat at my
table oftener. I suppose the flower-pot business has detained him. We'll
drink to him: eh, Grete?'
'Drink to him, dear father!--but here he is to thank you in person.'
Margarita felt a twinge of pity as Berthold entered. The livid stains of
his bruise deepened about his eyes, and gave them a wicked light whenever
they were fixed intently; but they looked earnest; and spoke of a combat
in which he could say that he proved no coward and was used with some
cruelty.
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