mistrust me,
nor I to play you false. The difficulty is to get the Prince out of the
palace without scandal. His valets are devoted; his chamberlain a slave;
and yet one cry might ruin all."

"They must be overpowered," he said, following her to the new ground,
"and disappear along with him."

"And your whole scheme along with them!" she cried. "He does not take
his servants when he goes a-hunting: a child could read the truth. No,
no; the plan is idiotic; it must be Ratafia's. But hear me. You know the
Prince worships me?"

"I know," he said. "Poor Featherhead, I cross his destiny!"

"Well now," she continued, "what if I bring him alone out of the palace,
to some quiet corner of the Park--the Flying Mercury, for instance?
Gordon can be posted in the thicket; the carriage wait behind the
temple; not a cry, not a scuffle, not a footfall; simply, the Prince
vanishes!--What do you say? Am I an able ally? Are my _beaux yeux_ of
service? Ah, Heinrich, do not lose your Anna!--she has power!"

He struck with his open hand upon the chimney. "Witch!" he said, "there
is not your match for devilry in Europe. Service! the thing runs on
wheels."

"Kiss me, then, and let me go. I must not miss my Featherhead," she
said.

"Stay, stay," said the Baron; "not so fast. I wish, upon my soul, that I
could trust you; but you are, out and in, so whimsical a devil that I
dare not. Hang it, Anna, no; it's not possible!"

"You doubt me, Heinrich?" she cried.

"Doubt is not the word," said he. "I know you. Once you were clear of me
with that paper in your pocket, who knows what you would do with
it?--not you, at least--nor I. You see," he added, shaking his head
paternally upon the Countess, "you are as vicious as a monkey."

"I swear to you," she cried, "by my salvation...."

"I have no curiosity to hear you swearing," said the Baron.

"You think that I have no religion? You suppose me destitute of honour.
Well," she said, "see here: I will not argue, but I tell you once for
all: leave me this order, and the Prince shall be arrested--take it from
me, and, as certain as I speak, I will upset the coach. Trust me, or
fear me; take your choice." And she offered him the paper.

The Baron, in a great contention of mind, stood irresolute, weighing the
two dangers. Once his hand advanced, then dropped. "Well," he said,
"since trust is what you call it...."

"No more," she interrupted. "Do not spoil your attitude. And now since
you hav