e Princess
Ratafia. Yes, 'tis done. I have the order all in Ratafia's hand; I carry
it on my heart. At the hour of twelve to-night, Prince Featherhead is to
be taken in his bed, and, like the bambino, whipped into a chariot; and
by next morning he will command a most romantic prospect from the donjon
of the Felsenburg. Farewell, Featherhead! The war goes on, the girl is
in my hand; I have long been indispensable, but now I shall be sole. I
have long," he added exultingly, "long carried this intrigue upon my
shoulders, like Samson with the gates of Gaza; now I discharge that
burthen."

She had sprung to her feet a little paler. "Is this true?" she cried.

"I tell you a fact," he asseverated. "The trick is played."

"I will never believe it," she said. "An order? In her own hand? I will
never believe it, Heinrich."

"I swear to you," said he.

"O, what do you care for oaths--or I either? What would you swear by?
Wine, women, and song? It is not binding," she said. She had come quite
close up to him and laid her hand upon his arm. "As for the order--no,
Heinrich, never! I will never believe it. I will die ere I believe it.
You have some secret purpose--what, I cannot guess--but not one word of
it is true."

"Shall I show it you?" he asked.

"You cannot," she answered. "There is no such thing."

"Incorrigible Sadducee!" he cried. "Well, I will convert you; you shall
see the order." He moved to a chair where he had thrown his coat, and
then drawing forth and holding out a paper, "Read," said he.

She took it greedily, and her eye flashed as she perused it.

"Hey!" cried the Baron, "there falls a dynasty, and it was I that felled
it; and I and you inherit!" He seemed to swell in stature; and next
moment, with a laugh, he put his hand forward. "Give me the dagger,"
said he.

But she whisked the paper suddenly behind her back and faced him,
lowering. "No, no," she said. "You and I have first a point to settle.
Do you suppose me blind? She could never have given that paper but to
one man, and that man her lover. Here you stand--her lover, her
accomplice, her master--O, I well believe it, for I know your power. But
what am I?" she cried; "I, whom you deceive?"

"Jealousy!" cried Gondremark. "Anna, I would never have believed it!
But I declare to you by all that's credible that I am not her lover. I
might be, I suppose; but I never yet durst risk the declaration. The
chit is so unreal; a mincing doll; she will and s