The old man slowly shook his head.
“I am at least equally culpable,” he said. “I shall answer truthfully any question asked me, but I hope I am not in the wrong if I volunteer no information.”
The girl rose.
“You could do no wrong, Father, even if you tried; and now good-night. Sleep soundly and fear nothing. On the rare occasions when the good Archbishop was angry with me, I have always managed to placate him, and I shall not fail in this instance.”
Father Ambrose bade her good-night, and left the room with the languid air of one thoroughly tired. As the young Countess stood there watching his retreat and disappearance, her dainty little fist clenched, and her eyebrows came together, bringing to her handsome face the determined expression which marked the countenances of some of her Crusader ancestors whose portraits decorated the walls.
“If ever I get that ruffian Prince Roland into my power,” she said to herself, “I will make him regret his treatment of so tolerant and forbearing a man as Father Ambrose.”
V. THE COUNTESS VON SAYN AND THE ARCHBISHOP OF COLOGNE
It was high noon when that great Prince of the Church, the Archbishop of Cologne, arrived at Castle Sayn, with a very inconsiderable following, which seemed to indicate that he traveled on no affair of State, for on such occasions he led a small army. The lovely young Countess awaited him at the top of the Castle steps, and he greeted her with the courtesy of a polished man of the world, rather than with the more austere consideration of a great Churchman. Indeed, it seemed to the quick apprehension of the girl that as he raised her fair hand to his lips his obeisance was lower, more deferential, than their differing stations in life justified.