“It never occurs to one Archbishop that either of the others may be speaking the truth. There is so much mistrust among them that they nullify all united action, which accounts for the prostrate state of this city, the capital of one of the most prosperous countries under the sun. So far as I can see, taken individually, they are upright, trustworthy men. Now, to give you an instance. Your guardian last night was simply panic-stricken at my audacity in visiting him. He said I must not come again, refusing me permission to see you; he told you nothing of my conference with him: he felt certain I was being tracked by spies, and could not be made to understand that my presence here was of no consequence one way or another.”
“Then why are you here now?”
“I am just coming to that. I asked your guardian to invite my mother as his guest. Have you met her yet?”
“No; they told me the Empress was too tired to receive any one. I am to be introduced at dinner to-night.”
“Well, this morning I wrote to the Archbishop of Mayence, telling him of my interview with your guardian, the reason for it, and the results. His reply came promptly by return.” Roland produced the document. “Just read that, and see whether you detect anything sinister in it.”
She read the letter thoughtfully.
“That is honest enough on the surface.”
“On the surface, yes; but why not below the surface as well? That is a frank assent to a frank request. I think that if the Archbishops would treat each other with open candor they would save themselves a good deal of anxiety.”
“Perhaps,” said the girl, very quietly.
“You are not convinced?”