“Will you go with me to the palace?” she asked, drawing her hand away, but smiling.
“The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim,” I made bold to observe, “knows some things that most people do not know, madam.” She turned on me with dignity, almost with displeasure.
“The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim may be trusted to be silent,” she said. “We ask him to do nothing against his cousin. We ask only his silence.”
“Ay,” said I, braving her anger, “but what security shall we have?”
“His word of honor, my lord.” I knew that a rebuke to my presumption lay in her calling me “my lord,” for, save on formal occasions, she always used to call me Fritz.
“His word of honor!” I grumbled. “In truth, madam—”
“He’s right,” said Rischenheim; “he’s right.”
“No, he’s wrong,” said the queen, smiling. “The count will keep his word, given to me.”
Rischenheim looked at her and seemed about to address her, but then he turned to me, and said in a low tone:
“By Heaven, I will, Tarlenheim. I’ll serve her in everything—”