"Godesberg," whispered she to Count Ludwig, as trembling
on his arm they descended from the drawing-room, "Godesberg is sadly
changed of late."
"By St. Bugo!" said the burly knight, starting, "these are the very
words the barber spake."
The lady heaved a sigh, and placed herself before the soup-tureen. For
some time the good Knight Ludwig of Hombourg was too much occupied in
ladling out the forced-meat balls and rich calves' head of which the
delicious pottage was formed (in ladling them out, did we say? ay,
marry, and in eating them, too,) to look at his brother-in-arms at the
bottom of the table, where he sat with his son on his left hand, and the
Baron Gottfried on his right.
The Margrave was INDEED changed. "By St. Bugo," whispered Ludwig to the
Countess, "your husband is as surly as a bear that hath been wounded o'
the head." Tears falling into her soup-plate were her only reply. The
soup, the turbot, the haunch of mutton, Count Ludwig remarked that the
Margrave sent all away untasted.
"The boteler will serve ye with wine, Hombourg," said the Margrave
gloomily from the end of the table: not even an invitation to drink! how
different was this from the old times!
But when in compliance with this order the boteler proceeded to hand
round the mantling vintage of the Cape to the assembled party, and to
fill young Otto's goblet, (which the latter held up with the eagerness
of youth,) the Margrave's rage knew no bounds.
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