The countess turned pale and sank into an arm-chair. "There, there--Your Highness, don't be troubled," Martin went on calmly--"that will do them no good, the church books don't lie open on the tavern tables like bills of fare, and the old pastor will not let everybody meddle with them."
"The old pastor?" cried the countess despairingly--"he is dead, and since my father, the prince, has grown weak-minded, the patronage has lapsed to the government. The new pastor has no motive for showing us any consideration."
"So the old pastor is dead? H'm, H'm!" Martin for the first time shook his head anxiously. "If one could only get a word from His Highness the Prince--just to find out whether the marriage was really entered in the record."
"Yes, if we knew that!"
Martin smiled with a somewhat embarrassed look. "I ventured to take a little liberty--and went--I thought I would try whether I could find out anything from him? Because His Highness--you remember--followed us to Prankenberg."
"Very true!" The countess nodded in the utmost excitement. "Well?"
"Alas!--it was useless! His Highness doesn't know anybody, can remember nothing. When you go over to-morrow, you will see that he can't live long. His Highness is perfectly childish. Then he got so excited that we thought he would lose his breath, and at last had to be put to bed. I could not help weeping when I saw it--such a stately gentleman--and now so helpless!"
The countess listened to this report with little interest. Her father had been nothing to her while he retained his mental faculties--now, in a condition of slow decay, he was merely a poor invalid, to whom she performed the usual filial duties.
"Go on, go on," she cried impatiently, "you are not telling the story in regular order. When did you see my father?"
"A week ago, after my talk with the gentlemen."