"If these persons know no more than I do, why, they are persecuted. They had better have waited boldly for their persecution."
"The new moon may change the monarch's humor. I advise you to sing well to-night. That is your best chance, and will have more effect on him than fine words. How the deuce could you be so imprudent as to suffer yourself to be sent to Spandau? The king would never, for such trifles as you are accused of, have inflicted so uncourteous a sentence upon a lady. You must have answered him arrogantly, with your cap on your ear and your hand on your sword-hilt. What had you done that was wrong? Let me see—what was it? I will undertake to arrange matters; and if you follow my advice, you will not return to that damp swamp, but will sleep to-night in a pretty room at Berlin. Come, tell me. They say you supped in the palace with the Princess Amelia, and that one fine night you amused yourself by playing the ghost and the balayeuse in the corridors, for the purpose of scaring the queen's ladies of honor. It seems that several of these ladies have miscarried, and the most virtuous are likely to give birth to children with brooms on their noses. They say you had your fortune told by Madame Von Kleist's astrologer, and that Saint Germain revealed to you all the secrets of Philip the Fair. Are you simple enough to think that the king means anything else than to laugh with his sister at these follies? The king, besides, has a weakness almost equal to child's play for the abbess. As for the fortune-tellers, he only wishes to know whether they ring their changes for money, in which case they must leave the country and all is done. You see clearly, then, that you take advantage of your position, and that had you answered some unimportant questions quietly, you would not have passed the carnival at Spandau in such a sad manner."
Consuelo let the old courtier chatter away, without interruption; and when he pressed her to reply, persisted in saying that she did not know what he was talking of. She saw that some snare lurked beneath all this frivolity.
Von Poelnitz then changed his tactics.
"This is well," said he. "You distrust me. I am not displeased. On the contrary, I value your prudence highly. Since you are of this disposition, signora, I will speak plainly. I perceive that you may be trusted, and that our secret is in good hands. Know, then, Signora Porporina, that I am more your friend than you imagine. I am one of you. I am of the party of Prince Henry."
"Prince Henry has a party, then?" said Porporina, who was anxious to learn the intrigue in which she was said to be involved.
"Do not pretend ignorance," said the baron. "It is a party at present much persecuted, but far from being desperate. The Grand Lama, or, if you like the title better, the Marquis, does not sit so firmly on his throne that he cannot be shaken out of it. Prussia is a good war-horse, but must not be pushed too far."
"Then you are a conspirator, Baron Von Poelnitz! I never suspected you."
"Who does not conspire now? The tyrant is surrounded by servants who are apparently faithful. They have however, sworn his ruin."
"You are very wrong, baron, to confide this to me."