“I cannot, your Grace; ’twould be against my conscience.”
Galitzin moved his lips, not finding a way out of his embarrassment.
“Who is she?” said he, trying to look very important and determined. “Cannot you see this is a State secret, a most important one. You see I must send a report. There will be inquiries; I’m answerable for everything, for order. Here, I … I alone!”
“One thing I may tell your Grace—while I am alive, I’ll keep the oath exacted by you.”
The field-marshal was all ears.
“I’ll not let one word fall of what I heard at the Confession,” continued Father Peter. “You exacted from me an oath of silence, but I can inform you of one thing, prince, although it is my own personal opinion: the captive has been much calumniated, a great deal has been invented, … and what if she.…”
“Oh! speak, speak!” said the field-marshal.
“What if the captive were innocent?” said the priest; “why should she suffer all that?”
If a thunderbolt had fallen at the feet of the prince, he could not have been more wonderstruck.
“You assure me—do you mean to say, that she had no accomplices?” said he; “that she was no traitor? But then, am I to understand that she is our own truly born grand-duchess! But is it possible? No, not for one minute can I think it!”