“‘As you say, yet who will give the command? Not the Count, certainly, for what service would it be to him if the husband of Christine were sent to a prison, and to his regiment afterwards? The tale that he fired upon his commanding officer is one to be told in a guest-house, and not to a court of soldiers. You know that it is untrue. And more than that, my friend, we are dealing with one to whom honour is a faith. You, of course, might go to the Prefect with the story in your mouth. He would answer you that the man Klun was shot in the hills. You would lose then both the opportunity of serving the woman and the reward which I have promised you. Is that wisdom?’
“‘Nay,’ said I, for he had convinced me, ‘it would be folly beyond words, and for the matter of that——’
“‘Hush!’ he whispered, ‘the steward is coming out.’
“It was as he said. The Count had now flung himself into a great chair before his fire, and sat there motionless, the red light playing upon his drawn and anxious face. But the steward came out to us, and raising his finger warningly, he led us to the cloister. There, in hurried whispered words, he told us what had passed.
“‘He heard all in Travnik,’ said he, ‘for they had telegraphed there. He asked me if there was any letter left or message, or if the man—whom they say she has gone with—has been seen about the place. I said no, and then he charged me that my lady’s name should never pass our lips again. His anger I could have borne with—but his kindness—my God, that is hard to bear now. And there was no complaint. Had I been a woman, he could not have spoken gentler words. Black be the day that I have seen him so.’
“Excellency, I make no excuse for him, but there were tears in the eyes of Hans when he had done speaking.
“‘Come, Master Hans,’ I exclaimed, ‘neither winter nor summer rests always in the sky, as the proverb goes. Diamine, he will forget in a week, and all will be well again! It must be our business to help him. He made mention of me, did you say?’
“‘Surely he did.’
“‘The Lord bless his charity, then.’
“‘Not so fast, my friend. It is his wish that you return to your home with to-morrow’s sun. “Let the old man be seen here no more,” he said. A hard word, Signor Andrea, but this is not the time to alter it.’