he will not; there is
no counting on her, by God! And hitherto I have had my own way without,
and keep the lover in reserve. And I say, Anna," he added with severity,
"you must break yourself of this new fit, my girl; there must be no
combustion. I keep the creature under the belief that I adore her; and
if she caught a breath of you and me, she is such a fool, prude, and dog
in the manger, that she is capable of spoiling all."

"All very fine," returned the lady. "With whom do you pass your days?
and which am I to believe, your words or your actions?"

"Anna, the devil take you, are you blind?" cried Gondremark. "You know
me. Am I likely to care for such a preciosa? 'Tis hard that we should
have been together for so long, and you should still take me for a
troubadour. But if there is one thing that I despise and deprecate, it
is all such figures in Berlin wool. Give me a human woman--like
yourself. You are my mate; you were made for me; you amuse me like the
play. And what have I to gain that I should pretend to you? If I do not
love you, what use are you to me? Why, none. It is as clear as noonday."

"Do you love me, Heinrich?" she asked, languishing. "Do you truly?"

"I tell you," he cried, "I love you next after myself. I should be all
abroad if I had lost you."

"Well, then," said she, folding up the paper and putting it calmly in
her pocket, "I will believe you, and I join the plot. Count upon me. At
midnight, did you say? It is Gordon, I see, that you have charged with
it. Excellent; he will stick at nothing."

Gondremark watched her suspiciously. "Why do you take the paper?" he
demanded. "Give it here."

"No," she returned; "I mean to keep it. It is I who must prepare the
stroke; you cannot manage it without me; and to do my best I must
possess the paper. Where shall I find Gordon? In his rooms?" She spoke
with a rather feverish self-possession.

"Anna," he said sternly, the black, bilious countenance of his palace
_role_ taking the place of the more open favour of his hours at home, "I
ask you for that paper. Once, twice, and thrice."

"Heinrich," she returned, looking him in the face, "take care. I will
put up with no dictation."

Both looked dangerous; and the silence lasted for a measurable interval
of time. Then she made haste to have the first word; and with a laugh
that rang clear and honest, "Do not be a child," she said. "I wonder at
you. If your assurances are true, you can have no reason to