"No, you cannot assist me," she declared in a tone that told me how desperate she had now become. "My uncle," she exclaimed, staring straight before her across the moonlit waters, whence the dark mountains rose from the opposite bank. "Count, be careful! Do—my—my uncle."
"I don't understand," I said, standing at her side and gazing at her pale countenance beneath the full light of the moon.
"My uncle—he knows something—be careful—warn the Crown-Prince."
"What does he know?"
"He has never told me."
"Are you in entire ignorance of the reason of the visit of His Highness to Rome? Try and remember all you know," I urged.
The girl put both her palms to her brow, and, shaking her head, said:
"I can remember nothing—nothing—oh! my poor head! Only warn the man who in Rome called himself Herr Nebelthau!"
She spoke in a low, nervous tone, and I could see that she was decidedly hysterical and much unstrung.
"Did you meet Herr Nebelthau?" I asked eagerly.