Miss Baxter was thoroughly frightened, but she said to the Prince sharply,—
“If you do not let go my wrist, I’ll scream. How dare you lay your hand on me?”
The Prince released her wrist and stepped back.
“Forgive me,” he said; “I’m a very miserable man. Forget what I have said.”
“How can I forget it?” cried the girl, gathering courage as she saw him quail before her blazing eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to bring to me any letters written by—by——”
“Written by von Schaumberg,” cried the girl, noticing his hesitation and filling in the blank.
A red wave of anger surged up in the Prince’s face.
“Yes,” he cried; “bring me a letter to her from von Schaumberg, and I’ll pay you what you ask.”
The girl laughed.