“It was,” she replied, “his abominable disregard for my happiness that drove me from my home. It was that also, I imagine, that made Prince Ludwig a wanderer, since he seems to detest this scheme of Rollmar’s as much as I.”
“Then, Princess, you have no idea as to what became of poor Ludwig; whether he be living or dead? You have never seen him?” Ferdinand asked, in simulated concern.
“I have never seen Prince Ludwig. He has taken care of that,” she answered, with a trace of bitterness. “He need not have feared,” she added proudly. “There was no need to efface himself from human knowledge. But perhaps, if he imagined me so poor a thing as to be a puppet in Rollmar’s hands, he was right to run any risk to avoid me.”
“He knows not what he has missed,” said Ferdinand, with greedy admiration. “Happily, perhaps, he will never know it now.”
“He is dead?” she asked, with womanly regret.
“There is little doubt of it.”
“And the man on whose account I have come to plead with you?” she urged. “The subject and soldier of your Majesty, who has braved Rollmar and faced more than once the death prepared for him; you will not let him die?”
The covetous eyes were feasting on her beauty, flushed as it was with the eagerness of entreaty. He roused himself from his preoccupation of contemplating her face to answer her words.
“Not if we can help it. But, you know, Princess, that Count Irromar is no easy man to deal with.”
“That is true. Yet surely the King of Beroldstein is stronger than he?”