The perturbed Archbishop sat back again with a deep sigh. The ignorance of women with which his colleague of Treves had credited all three was being amazingly dispelled. He could not understand why this girl should show such emotion at the thought of marrying the heir to the throne, when assured the young man was all that any reasonable woman could desire.
“Madam, I pray you give your attention to me,” said the unimpassioned voice of Mayence. “I have listened to your conversation with my colleagues, and the patience I exhibited will, I hope, be credited to me. This matter of business”—he emphasized the word—“must be settled to-day, and to clear away all misapprehension, I desire to say that your guardian has really no influence on this matter. It was settled before you came into the room. You are merely allowed a choice of two outcomes: first, marriage with Prince Roland; second, imprisonment in Pfalz Castle, situated in the middle of the Rhine.”
“What is that?” demanded the Countess.
“I am tired of repeating my statements.”
“You would imprison me—me, a Countess of Sayn?”
Again the tears evaporated, and in their place came the smoldering fire bequeathed to her by the Crusaders, and, if the truth must be known, by Rhine robbers as well.
“Yes, Madam. A predecessor of mine once hanged one of your ancestors.”
“It is not true,” cried the girl, in blazing wrath. “‘Twas the Emperor Rudolph who hanged him; the same Emperor that chastised an Archbishop of Mayence, and brought him, cringing, to his knees, begging for pardon, which the Emperor contemptuously flung to him. You dare not imprison me!”
“Refuse to marry Prince Roland, and learn,” said the Archbishop very quietly.
The girl sprang to her feet, a-quiver with anger.