“I hope not,” Udo observed amiably.
“I have a blood-hound on his track. You may trust me to run him to earth. When a woman stoops to trickery she is more than a match for the cleverest man; her strength lies in her weakness—and in his.”
Which saying was not exactly a soothing balm for Captain Udo’s smarting vanity.
So the Chancellor had been outwitted for the nonce; he was, however, far too diplomatic to let the Princess or Minna see that he was aware of it, or to show the slightest spleen. On the contrary, he took an opportunity when they met at a royal dinner-party that evening of mildly bantering the Princess on her supposed predilection for his son. “It is scarcely a fair game to play with my poor boy, Highness,” he said half ruefully, “to lead him on to dream of the unattainable.”
“Was it my fault, Baron?” she returned. “And for that matter, is it not yourself who insist on placing me above everybody’s reach—save one?”
“Do not blame the steward for keeping guard over his master’s treasure,” Rollmar rejoined.
“Burying the talent, Baron.”
“Nay, keeping it for the man who can put it to the best use, not allowing it to be frittered away and wasted.”
“And in the meantime we are beggars since our fortune is locked up and unnegotiable. Really, Baron, your plan may be sound policy, but it has its disadvantages. To go no farther, you have deprived me of a willing organ-blower.”
“I shall be happy to replace him by a less aspiring one,” he returned with a smile; “whose position will not warrant his exploring the interior of the organ when the music is interrupted.”