ed before
you came into the room. You are merely allowed a choice of two outcomes:
first, marriage with Prince Roland; second, imprisonment in Pfalz
Castle, situated in the middle of the Rhine."

"What is that?" demanded the Countess.

"I am tired of repeating my statements."

"You would imprison me--me, a Countess of Sayn?"

Again the tears evaporated, and in their place came the smoldering fire
bequeathed to her by the Crusaders, and, if the truth must be known, by
Rhine robbers as well.

"Yes, Madam. A predecessor of mine once hanged one of your ancestors."

"It is not true," cried the girl, in blazing wrath. "'Twas the Emperor
Rudolph who hanged him; the same Emperor that chastised an Archbishop of
Mayence, and brought him, cringing, to his knees, begging for pardon,
which the Emperor contemptuously flung to him. You dare not imprison
me!"

"Refuse to marry Prince Roland, and learn," said the Archbishop very
quietly.

The girl sprang to her feet, a-quiver with anger.

"I do refuse! Prince Roland has hoodwinked the three of you! He is a
libertine and a brawler, consorting with the lowest in the cellars of
Frankfort; a liar and a thief, and not a brave thief at that, but a
cutthroat who holds his sword to the breast of an unarmed merchant while
he filches from him his gold. Added to that, a drunkard as his father
is; and, above all, a hypocrite, as his father is not, yet clever
enough, with all his vices, to cozen three men whose vile rule has
ruined Frankfort, and left the broad Rhine empty of its life-giving
commerce;" she waved her hand toward the vacant river.

The Archbishop of Cologne was the first to rise, horror-stricken.

"The girl is mad!" he murmured.

Treves rose also, but Mayence sat still, a sour smile on his lips, yet a
twinkle of admiration in his eyes.

"No, my poor Guardian, I am not mad," she cried, regarding him with a
smile, her wrath subsiding as quickly as it had risen. "What I say is
true, and it may be that our meeting, turbulent as it has been, will
prevent you from making a great mistake. He whom you would put on the
throne is not the man you think."

"My dear ward!" cried Cologne, "how can you make such accusations
against him? What should a girl living in seclusion as you live, know of
what is passing in Frankfort."

"It seems strange, Guardian, but it is true, nevertheless. Sit down
again, I beg of you, and you, my Lord of Treves. Even my Lord of Mayence
will, I think,