Father Lamormain made a little gentle deprecating shrug.
"Let me remind your Highness that, at the last election of the Roman Emperor, Maximilian held the election in his hand, but he exercised his own vote in favour of your father. Was this not proving himself a friend to whom any gratitude is due? And this was not the last or greatest of his services."
"Indeed?" said the Archduchess. "What were the other services?"
"Did he not defeat, nay crush, the Palatine on the white hills of Prague?"
"It was the work of General Pappenheim, was it not?"
"The merit was his! Again I say, Pappenheim was merely his captain. The Elector Maximilian found men and money for the campaign,—money which the Emperor owes him to this day."
"It has been sufficiently bruited about," the Archduchess commented. "There is something of the Jew about your Maximilian."
"He is a most noble worthy prince," said Father Lamormain, "and he is a widower!"
"It is time he was done with wiving. He must be sixty years old." She gave a little shiver of disgust.
"He is not so old as you think, your Highness, neither is his vigour of mind and body much abated, but it is not becoming of me to discourse of these things to your Highness. The Elector Maximilian desires to wed again, and to one of the Emperor's daughters...."