It was impossible for a girl of the fond age of
eighteen, highly predisposed for love and matrimony, not to be
pleased with so gallant a cavalier.
The late hour at which the guest had arrived left no time for
parley. The baron was peremptory, and deferred all particular
conversation until the morning, and led the way to the untasted
banquet.
It was served up in the great hall of the castle. Around the
walls hung the hard-favored portraits of the heroes of the house
of Katzenellenbogen, and the trophies which they had gained in
the field, and in the chase. Hacked corselets, splintered
jousting-spears, and tattered banners were mingled with the
spoils of sylvan warfare: the jaws of the wolf and the tusks of
the boar grinned horribly among crossbows and battle-axes, and a
huge pair of antlers branched immediately over the head of the
youthful bridegroom.
The cavalier took but little notice of the company or the
entertainment. He scarcely tasted the banquet, but seemed
absorbed in admiration of his bride. He conversed in a low tone
that could not be overheard, for the language of love is never
loud; but where is the female ear so dull that it cannot catch
the softest whisper of the lover? There was a mingled tenderness
and gravity in his manner that appeared to have a powerful effect
upon the young lady.
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