yourself for it. In treading the road which you have trodden,
every step should be considered. This, it seems to me, you have
not done. You wish to enjoy the fruits of your treachery in perfect
security; but you have not the courage to stand before the world as a
traitor. Do away with this name, which will cause you many dangers and
insults. Fly from this place, where you and your deeds are known. Under
a different name look for an asylum in another part of my land.
Money shall not fail you; and if what you have earned from me is not
sufficient, turn to me, and I will lend you still more. I will not
forget that to me your treachery has been of great use, and therefore
I will not desert you, though I shall despise the traitor. And now,
farewell! This is our last meeting. Call this afternoon upon my
treasurer; he will pay you two hundred louis d'or. And now go." And
with a scornful look at Weingarten's pale countenance, he turned to the
window.

Weingarten hurried past the halls and chambers, and entered Rosa's room.
She read in his pale, sad face that he had no good news to tell her.

"Has it all been in vain?" said she, breathlessly.

"In vain?" cried he, with a scornful smile. "No, not in vain. The king
rewarded me well; much better than Judas Iscariot was rewarded. I have
earned a large sum of money, and am still to receive a thousand crowns.
Quiet yourself, Rosa; we will be very happy, for we will have money.
Only I must ask if the proud daughter of the royal castle-warder will
give her hand to a man who can offer her no name, no position. Rosa, I
warn you, think well of what you do. You loved me because I was a count,
and had position to offer you. From to-day, I have no position, no name,
no honor, no family. Like Ahasuerus, I will wander wearily through the
world, happy and thanking God if I can find a quiet spot where I am
not known, and my name was never heard. There I will rest, and trust to
chance for a name. Rosa, will you share with me this existence, without
sunshine, without honor, without a name?"

She was trembling so, that she could barely speak.

"I have no choice," stammered she, at last; "I must follow you, for my
honor demands that I should be your wife. I must go with you; fate wills
it."

With a loud shriek she fainted by his side. Weingarten did not raise
her; he glanced wildly at the pale, lifeless woman at his feet.

"We are both condemned," murmured he, "we have both lost our honor. An