“That may be, my Lord, but I must do my duty.”
“Are you sure you have already done it on all occasions?” asked the Archbishop severely.
The man’s face became ghastly in its pallor.
“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”
“Then I will quickly tell you what I mean. It is rumored that Prince Roland has been seen on the streets of Frankfort.”
“How—how could that be, my Lord?”
“That is exactly what I wish to know. I believe the Prince is not in your custody.”
“I assure you, my Lord,” said the now thoroughly frightened man, “that his Highness is in his room.”
“Very well; then conduct this lady thither. Although she does not know the Prince, a relative of hers who does asserts that he met his Highness in Frankfort. I said this was impossible if you had done that duty you prate so much about. The lady merely wishes to ask him for some explanation of this affair, so make your choice. Shall she go up with you now, or must I send for the other two Archbishops?”
There was but one comforting phrase in this remark, namely, that the lady did not know the Prince. Still, it was a dreadful risk, yet the custodian hesitated no longer. He took down a bunch of keys, and asked the Countess to follow him. Ascending the stair, he unlocked the door, and stood aside for the Countess to pass through.