The Princess spoke with some distress. “Your violence shocks me and pains me,” she began, “but I cannot be angry with what at least does honour to the mistaken kindness of your heart: it was right for me to know this. I will condescend to tell you. It was with deep regret that I was driven to this step. I admire in many ways the Prince—I admit his amiability. It was our great misfortune, it was perhaps somewhat of my fault, that we were so unsuited to each other; but I have a regard, a sincere regard, for all his qualities. As a private person I should think as you do. It is difficult, I know, to make allowances for state considerations. I have only with deep reluctance obeyed the call of a superior duty; and so soon as I dare do it for the safety of the state, I promise you the Prince shall be released. Many in my situation would have resented your freedoms. I am not”—and she looked for a moment rather piteously upon the Countess—“I am not altogether so inhuman as you think.”
“And you can put these troubles of the state,” the Countess cried, “to weigh with a man’s love?”
“Madame von Rosen, these troubles are affairs of life and death to many; to the Prince, and perhaps even to yourself, among the number,” replied the Princess, with dignity. “I have learned, madam, although still so young, in a hard school, that my own feelings must everywhere come last.”
“O callow innocence!” exclaimed the other. “Is it possible you do not know, or do not suspect, the intrigue in which you move? I find it in my heart to pity you! We are both women after all—poor girl, poor girl!—and who is born a woman is born a fool. And though I hate all women—come, for the common folly, I forgive you. Your Highness”—she dropped a deep stage curtsey and resumed her fan—“I am going to insult you, to betray one who is called my lover, and if it pleases you to use the power I now put unreservedly into your hands, to ruin my dear self. Oh what a French comedy! You betray, I betray, they betray. It is now my cue. The letter, yes. Behold the letter, madam, its seal unbroken as I found it by my bed this morning; for I was out of humour, and I get many, too many, of these favours. For your own sake, for the sake of my Prince Charming, for the sake of this great principality that sits so heavy on your conscience, open it and read!”
“Am I to understand,” inquired the Princess, “that this letter in any way regards me?”
“You see I have not opened it,” replied von Rosen; “but ’tis mine, and I beg you to experiment.”
“I cannot look at it till you have,” returned Seraphina, very seriously. “There may be matter there not meant for me to see; it is a private letter.”
The Countess tore it open, glanced it through, and tossed it back; and the Princess, taking up the sheet, recognised the hand of Gondremark, and read with a sickening shock the following lines:—
“Dearest Anna, come at once. Ratafia has done the deed, her husband is to be packed to prison. This puts the minx entirely in my power; le tour est joué; she will now go steady in harness, or I will know the reason why. Come.
“Command yourself, madam,” said the Countess, watching with some alarm the white face of Seraphina. “It is in vain for you to fight with Gondremark; he has more strings than mere court favour, and could bring you down tomorrow with a word. I would not have betrayed him otherwise; but Heinrich is a man, and plays with all of you like marionnettes. And now at least you see for what you sacrificed my Prince. Madam, will you take some wine? I have been cruel.”
“Not cruel, madam—salutary,” said Seraphina, with a phantom smile. “No, I thank you, I require no attentions. The first surprise affected me: will you give me time a little? I must think.”
She took her head between her hands, and contemplated for a while the hurricane confusion of her thoughts.
“This information reaches me,” she said, “when I have need of it. I would not do as you have done, but yet I thank you. I have been much deceived in Baron Gondremark.”
“Oh, madam, leave Gondremark, and think upon the Prince!” cried von Rosen.
“You speak once more as a private person,” said the Princess; “nor do I blame you. But my own thoughts are more distracted. However, as I believe you are truly a friend to my—to the—as I believe,” she said, “you are a friend to Otto, I shall put the order for his release into your hands this moment. Give me the ink-dish. There!” And she wrote hastily, steadying her arm upon the table, for she trembled like a reed. “Remember; madam,” she resumed, handing her the order, “this must not be used nor spoken of at present; till I have seen the Baron, any hurried step—I lose myself in thinking. The suddenness has shaken me.”
“I promise you I will not use it,” said the Countess, “till you give me leave, although I wish the Prince could be informed of it, to comfort his poor heart. And oh, I had forgotten, he has left a letter. Suffer me, madam, I will bring it you. This is the door, I think?” And she sought to open it.
“The
