The woman seemed so entirely wrapt up in her own business that she did not heed Eckhardt's question.
"I dare not whisper the secret to any one else,—and my Lord Benilo bade me seek you in case of danger. And if you cannot move him from his mad purpose, he is lost, for never was he so bent to have his own way. If you come with me, you will find him waiting on the terrace,—and do your best to lead him back,—else he will come to as evil an end as a wasp in a bee's hive,—for all the honey!"
"And whom shall I find on the terrace?" asked Eckhardt with ill-concealed impatience. He liked not the babbling crone. "Cease your spurting and speak plainly, else go your way:—I am not for such as you!"
"It wants but a moment—whom else but your King, for whom she has sent under pretext of important business,—aye,—at this very hour and on the terraces of the Minotaurus."
"Otto,—important business,—Minotaurus—" repeated Eckhardt. "Who has sent for him?"
"Stephania."
Eckhardt shrugged his shoulders.
"What is it to me? Go your way, hoary pander,—what is it to me? Hasten to him, who has paid you to tell this tale and get your ransom from him! I wager, he knows the style of old!"
The woman did not move.
"Nay, my lord, that we all should go mad at one time," she sobbed with evidently strong emotions, which were perhaps not caused by the motive alleged. "Then I must away and fulfil his destiny,—for a man cannot serve two masters,—nor a woman either."