e bade her good-night, and left the room with the languid
air of one thoroughly tired. As the young Countess stood there watching
his retreat and disappearance, her dainty little fist clenched, and her
eyebrows came together, bringing to her handsome face the determined
expression which marked the countenances of some of her Crusader
ancestors whose portraits decorated the walls.

"If ever I get that ruffian Prince Roland into my power," she said to
herself, "I will make him regret his treatment of so tolerant and
forbearing a man as Father Ambrose."

V

THE COUNTESS VON SAYN AND THE ARCHBISHOP OF COLOGNE

It was high noon when that great Prince of the Church, the Archbishop of
Cologne, arrived at Castle Sayn, with a very inconsiderable following,
which seemed to indicate that he traveled on no affair of State, for on
such occasions he led a small army. The lovely young Countess awaited
him at the top of the Castle steps, and he greeted her with the courtesy
of a polished man of the world, rather than with the more austere
consideration of a great Churchman. Indeed, it seemed to the quick
apprehension of the girl that as he raised her fair hand to his lips his
obeisance was lower, more deferential, than their differing stations in
life justified.

He shook hands with Father Ambrose in the manner of old friend accosting
old friend, and nothing in his salutation indicated displeasure of any
sort in the background.

Perhaps, then, that sense of uneasiness felt by both the aged Father
Ambrose and the youthful Countess Hildegunde in the Archbishop's
presence came from their consciousness of conspiracy, resulting in the
ill-fated journey to Frankfort. Nevertheless, all that afternoon the two
were oppressed by the shadow of some impending danger, and the good
spirits of the Archbishop seemed to them assumed for the occasion, and
indeed in this they were not far wrong. His Lordship of Cologne was
keenly apprehensive regarding an important conference set down for the
next day, and the exuberance of an essentially serious man in such a
crisis is prone to be overdone.

Father Ambrose, who, in the midst of luxury and plenty, lived with the
abstemiousness of an anchorite, and always partook of his scant
refreshment alone in his cell, was invited by the Archbishop to a seat
at the table in the dining-hall.

"So long as you cast no look of reproach upon me for my enjoyment of
Sayn's most excellent cuisine, and my app