ace, which doubtless he was.

"'Landlord,' said Roland very quietly, 'this unfortunate monk is weak in
the head, and although he means no harm with his meddling, he may well
cause disaster to my comrades and myself. Earlier in the evening he
accosted on the bridge, but I spared him, hoping never to see his
monkish costume again. You may judge the state of his mind when I tell
you he accuses me of being the Emperor's son, and Heaven only knows what
he would estimate to be the quality of my comrades were he to see them.'

"Two or three times I attempted to speak, but the closing of his fingers
upon my throat prevented me, and even when they were slightly relaxed I
was scarcely able to breathe."

The Countess listened with the closest attention, fixing upon the
narrator her splendid eyes, and in them, despite their feminine beauty
and softness, seemed to smoulder a deep fire of resentment at the
treatment accorded her kinsman, a luminant of danger transmitted to her
down the ages from ancestors equally ready to fight for the Sepulcher in
Palestine or for the gold on the borders of the Rhine. In the pause,
during which the monk wiped from his wrinkled brow the moisture brought
there by remembrance of the indignity he had undergone, kindliness in
the eyes of the Countess overcame their menace, and she said gently:

"I am quite confident, Father, that such a ruffian could not be Prince
Roland. He was indeed the rude mechanic he proclaimed himself. No man of
noble blood would have acted thus."

"Listen, my child, listen," resumed Father Ambrose. "Turning to the
landlord, the Prince asked:

"'Is there a safe and vacant room in your establishment where I could
bestow this meddlesome priest for a few days?'

"'There is a wine vault underneath this drinking cellar,' responded the
landlord.

"'Does anyone enter that vault except yourself?'

"'No one,'

"'Will you undertake charge of the priest, seeing that he communicates
with none outside?'

"'Of a surety, Captain,'

"'Good. I will pay you well, and that in advance.'"

"This ruffian was never the Prince," interrupted the Countess firmly.

"I beg you to listen, Hildegunde, and my next sentence will convince
you. The Prince continued:

"'Not only prevent his communication with others, but do not listen to
him yourself. He will endeavor to persuade you that his name is Father
Ambrose, and that he is a monk in good standing with the Benedictine
Order. If he finds yo