“Her brother then occupied the English throne. He was Henry III., and of course much attention was paid over here to his dancing sister.”
“Why, Guardian, what you say gives a new interest to old Stolzenfels. I have never been within the Castle, but now I shall view it with delight, wondering through which of the rooms the English Princess danced. Why did Isabella come from England all the way to the Rhine?”
“She came to meet the three Archbishops.”
“Really? For what purpose?”
“That they might in ecclesiastical form, and upon the highest ecclesiastical authority, announce her betrothal.”
“Announce in Stolzenfels the betrothal of an English Princess, the daughter of one king and sister of another! Did she, then, marry a German?”
“Yes; she married the Emperor, Frederick II.; Frederick of Hohenstaufen.”
Slowly the girl turned her head, and looked steadfastly at the Archbishop, who was gazing earnestly up the road as if to catch a glimpse of the Castle which had been the scene of the events he related. Her face became pale, and a questioning wonder rose in her eyes. What did the Archbishop really mean by this latest historical recital? True, he was a man who had given much study to ancient lore; rather fond of exhibiting his proficiency therein when he secured patient listeners. Could there be any secret meaning in his story of the English Princess who danced? Was there any hidden analogy between the journey of the English Isabella, and the short trip taken that day by Hildegunde of Sayn? She was about to speak when the Archbishop made a slight signal with his right hand, and a horseman who had followed them all the way from Coblentz now spurred up alongside of his Lordship, who said sharply to the newcomer:
“How many of Treves’ men are in Coblentz?”
“Eight hundred and fifty, my Lord.”