It was now the turn of the amazed Archbishop of Cologne to rise to his feet.
“What his Highness says is impossible. The Lady von Sayn has been in my care ever since she entered Frankfort, and I pledge my word she has never left my Palace!”
“We were married yesterday at three o’clock, in the chapel of the Benedictine Fathers, and in the presence of four of them. We left your Palace, my Lord, by a door which you may discover in the wall of your garden, near the summer-house, and my wife is present in the adjoining room to implore your forgiveness.”
Cologne collapsed into his chair, and drew a hand across his bewildered brow. The situation appeared to amuse Mayence.
“I wish your Highness had withheld this information until I was sure that my brother of Treves will vote with me, as he promised. My Lord of Treves, you heard my proposition. May I count on your concurrence?”
Treves’ house of cards fell so suddenly to the ground that under the compelling eyes of Mayence he could do no more than stammer his acquiescence.
“I vote for the Prince,” he said in tones barely audible.
“And you, my Lord of Cologne?”
“Aye,” said Cologne gruffly.
“The Count Palatine?”