Let us consider his destiny more closely. Is it not strange to find that the crime of Count and Countess d’Ahlefeld met with such fitting punishment? They wove an infamous plot against the daughter of a prisoner; this unfortunate girl by a mere chance found a protector, who saw fit to remove their son, charged by them to carry out their abominable scheme. This son, their only hope, was sent far from the scene of his purposed villany; and hardly had he reached his destination, when another avenging chance caused his death. Thus in their attempt to bring dishonor upon an innocent yet detested young girl, they plunged their own guilty yet adored son into the oblivion of the grave. The wretched pair were made miserable by their own hands.
XXVII.
Ah, here comes our lovely countess! Forgive me, Madam, if I may not have the honor of a visit from you to-day. I am busy. Another time, deal Countess, another time; but to-day I will not detain you longer.—The Prince and Orsina.
THE day after his visit to Munkholm, the governor of Throndhjem ordered his travelling carriage to be made ready very early in the morning, hoping to start off before Countess d’Ahlefeld was awake; but we have already observed that her slumbers were light.
The general had just signed his final instructions to the bishop, into whose hands the government was to be committed during his absence. He rose, put on his fur-lined coat, and was about to leave the room, when the usher announced the chancellor’s wife.
This piece of ill luck confused the old soldier, who could laugh at the fiery rain of a hundred guns, but not at the artifices of a woman. However, he took leave of the wicked creature with a tolerably good grace, and disguised his annoyance until she whispered in his ear with that crafty look which would fain seem confidential, “Well, noble General, what did he say?”
“Who,—Poël? He said that the carriage was ready.”
“I mean the prisoner of Munkholm, General.”
“Did he answer your questions satisfactorily?”