“And in that time you have not seen the Princess?”
“Seen the Princess?” Königsmark’s brows were knit perplexedly. “I scarcely understand your Highness.”
The Elector moved a step and trod on a soft substance. He looked down, then stooped, and rose again, holding in his hand a woman’s glove.
“What’s this?” quoth he. “Whose glove is this?”
If Königsmark’s heart missed a beat—as well it may have done—he did not betray it outwardly. He smiled; indeed he almost laughed.
“Your Highness is amusing himself at my expense by asking me questions that only a seer could answer.”
The Elector was still considering him with his ponderously suspicious glance, when quick steps approached. A serving-maid, one of Sophia’s women, appeared in the doorway of the pavilion.
“What do you want?” the Elector snapped at her.
“A glove her Highness lately dropped here,” was the timid answer, innocently precipitating the very discovery which the woman had been too hastily dispatched to avert.
The Elector flung the glove at her, and there was a creak of evil laughter from him. When she had departed’ he turned again to Königsmark.