"I will consider anything, dear Father, if you will only make haste," said the Princess, with a smiling natural vivacity that killed any verbal disrespect.
"Nay, madcap, be patient. We must have a witness whose head sits on his shoulders beyond the risk of Prince Louis's halter or Prince Ivan's Muscovite dagger. What say you to the High Councillor of Plassenburg, Von Dessauer? He is here on an embassy."
The Princess clapped her hands.
"Yes, yes. He will do it. He will keep our secret. He also likes pretty girls."
"Also?" queried Father Clement, with a grave and demure countenance.
"Yes, Father, you know you do——"
"It is a thing most strictly forbidden by Holy Church that in fulfilling the duties of sacred office one should be swayed by any merely human considerations," began the priest, the wrinkles puckering about his eyes, though his lips continued grave.
"Oh, please, save the homily till after sacrament, dear Father!" cried the Princess. "You know you like me, and that you cannot help it."
The priest lifted up his hand and glanced upward, as if deprecating the anger of Heaven.
"Alas, it is too true!" he said, and dropped his hand again swiftly to his side.