The Prince gave me a look full of meaning, while a sad smile played on his lips. Suddenly he turned to Martella and asked, "And do you know where your lover is?"
"Yes; he is with the savages in Algiers. He, too, was a savage, but, by this time, he must have become tamed. O Prince! give me the writing, and what you write will be set down to your credit in heaven!"
The Prince seated himself, and then looked up from his desk and asked, "But what will you do with this letter of pardon?"
"Let your gracious Highness leave that to me. Just you write--and blessed be the pen and the ink and your hand--"
I implored her to remain quiet, so that the Prince could write, and she grasped my hand with one of hers, and with her other pointed towards the Prince's pen and moved her finger as if following its every stroke.
When the Prince bad finished writing, he lit a lamp, and Martella exclaimed: "Oh, if Ernst were only here, that he might thank you! But mother, who is above, knows of this already, and joins me in thanking you."
Her vigor and beauty, her touching voice, the powerful and dazzling brilliancy of her eyes, all seemed as if increased by an irresistible charm.
The Prince attached the seal to the document and handed it to her with the words, "I wish you success;" and, turning to me, added, "I am glad, at all events, that I have been able to be of some service to you."
Martella was about to kneel to him again, but he begged her to withdraw.
We went through the antechamber and down the steps, and, when we reached the foot of the staircase, Martella suddenly stopped and said: "I have something in which I can keep the letter of pardon. I still have the embroidered satchel, but now I will put in it something better and sweeter than the cake it once held."