But since one so great and distinguished as Michael Texel declared that such things were but useless gauds, unworthy of thought, I considered that I had better keep my tongue tight-reined as to my own desires.
I shall now tell the manner of my introduction to the famous society of the White Wolf.
From the very first time that ever I saw him, Michael Texel had much to say about a certain wondrous league of the young men of Thorn and the Wolfmark.

He told me how that every man with a heart in him was enrolled among them: the sons of the rich and great, like himself; the sons of the folk of no account (like myself, doubtless); the soldiers of the Duke--nay, it was whispered very low in my ear, that even the young Count Otho von Reuss, the Duke's nephew and heir, had taken high rank in the society.
I asked Michael what were the declared objects of the association.
"See," he cried, grandly, with a wave of his hand, "this city of Thorn.
It lies there under the Wolfsberg.

With a few cannon like Paul Grete, the Margrave's treasure, Duke Casimir could lay our houses in ruins.
Therefore, in the meantime, let us not break out against Duke Casimir.
But one day there will come an end to the tyrant Duke.

Tiles will not always break harmless on helmets, nor the point of steel always be turned aside by links of chain-armor.

As I say, an hour will come for Casimir as for other malefactors.