The Elector of Cologne smiled slightly; he had seen this comedy enacted before, and never objected to it. The carrying of some unimportant point in opposition to their chief always gave Treves a certain sense of independence.
“My Lord of Cologne,” said the latter, bending forward and addressing the man at the other end of the table “do you not agree with me?”
“Certainly,” replied Cologne, with some curtness.
“In that case,” continued Treves, “I take it upon myself to announce to you, Madam, that the young man chosen for our future ruler is Prince Roland, only son of the dying Emperor.”
The hands of the Countess nervously clutched the soft velvet on the arms of her chair.
“I thank you,” she said, addressing Treves, and speaking as calmly as though she were Mayence himself. “May I ask you if this marriage was proposed to the young man?”
Treves looked up nervously at the stern face of Mayence, who nodded to him, as much as to say:
“You are doing well; go on.”
“Yes,” replied Treves.
“Was my name concealed from him?”