“Nothing matters now,” she repeated, laughing tremulously. “I am said to be the richest woman in Germany. I shall build you a forge and enlist myself your apprentice. We will paint over the door ‘Herr Roland and wife; sword makers.’”
Two men appeared at the end of the alley, and stood still; the one with a frown on his brow, the other with a smile on his lips.
“Oh!” whispered the Countess, panic striking from her face the color that her palms had failed to remove, “the Archbishop and the Count Palatine!”
His Lordship strode forward, followed more leisurely by the smiling Count.
“Prince Roland,” said Cologne, “I had not expected this after our conference of last night.”
“I fail to understand why, my Lord, when my parting words were ‘Tell your porter to let me in without parley.’ That surely indicated an intention on my part to visit the Palace.”
“Your Highness knows that so far as I am concerned you are very welcome, and always shall be so, but at this juncture there are others to consider.”
Roland interrupted.
“Read this letter, my Lord, and you will learn that I am here with the full concurrence of that generous Prince of the Church, Mayence.”
Cologne, with knitted brow, scrutinized the communication.