“But will he not deceive me? Will he not betray me?” whispered the Princess, again glancing around.
Her very lips were blanched; she was quite beside herself.
“Tell me the whole truth, I implore you! You see, following his advice, I carry no arms upon me; it offends him.…”
It flashed through my mind that just during this very journey the count might persuade her to marry him.
“But, your Highness,” said I, and those fatal words burn now in my brain like letters of fire, “what do you fear? The count is madly in love with you, that I know surely. He sleeps but to see you in his dreams; even, he wanted to fly away with you.”
“Then it is the truth? Swear by the memory of your mother, of your father,” said she, squeezing my hand with all her might.
“In the name of God, it is true! I heard it from his own lips. He honoured me with his confidence. Besides, what am I in his eyes? Nothing; the meanest servant, the merest cipher, … and yet he told even me openly.…”
The Princess fixed her eyes on the image of the Saviour crowned with thorns hung up in the corner of the room, and she remained motionless for several minutes, as though breathing a silent and fervent prayer.
“The brave alone live!” said she, rising and drawing herself up to her full height. “Once his wife, he cannot betray me.… I shall go.… But, remember, I’ll not give up either liberty or heart without a struggle.… What is to happen will happen soon.…”