Ah, here comes our lovely countess! Forgive me, Madam, if I may not
have the honor of a visit from you to-day. I am busy. Another time,
deal Countess, another time; but to-day I will not detain you
longer.--_The Prince and Orsina._
The day after his visit to Munkholm, the governor of Throndhjem ordered
his travelling carriage to be made ready very early in the morning,
hoping to start off before Countess d’Ahlefeld was awake; but we have
already observed that her slumbers were light.
The general had just signed his final instructions to the bishop, into
whose hands the government was to be committed during his absence. He
rose, put on his fur-lined coat, and was about to leave the room, when
the usher announced the chancellor’s wife.
This piece of ill luck confused the old soldier, who could laugh at the
fiery rain of a hundred guns, but not at the artifices of a woman.
However, he took leave of the wicked creature with a tolerably good
grace, and disguised his annoyance until she whispered in his ear with
that crafty look which would fain seem confidential, “Well, noble
General, what did he say?”
“Who,--Poël? He said that the carriage was ready.”
“I mean the prisoner of Munkholm, General.”
“Oh!”
“Did he answer your questions satisfactorily?”
“Why--Yes, to be sure, Countess,” said the much embarrassed governor.
“Did you find proofs that he was concerned in the conspiracy among the
miners?”
The general involuntarily exclaimed, “Noble lady, he is innocent.”
He stopped short, for he knew that he had uttered the conviction of his
heart, not of his head.
“He is innocent!” repeated the countess, with a look of consternation
and incredulity; for she trembled lest Schumacker had really proved to
the governor the innocence which it was so much to the chancellor’s
interest to deny.
The governor had had time to reflect; he answered the persistent
gentlewoman in a tone which quieted her fears, for it revealed his doubt
and anxiety.
“Innocent--Yes, if you choose--”
“If I choose, General!” And the wicked woman laughed aloud.
Her laughter offended the governor, who said, “By your leave, Countess,
I will report my interview with the ex-chancellor to the viceroy.” Then
he bowed low, and went down to the courtyard, where his carriage awaited
him.
“Yes,” said Countess d’Ahlefeld, as she returned to her rooms; “go, my
knight-errant, for your absence rids us of the protector of our enemies.
Go; for your departure is the signal for my Frederic’s return. I wonder
how you dared to send the handsomest young man in Copenhagen to those
horrid mountains! Luckily, it will be easy enough now for me to have him
recalled.”
At this thought she turned to her favorite attendant.
“Lisbeth, my dear, send to Bergen for two dozen of those little combs
which our elegant young men are wearing in their hair, inquire for the
famous Scudéry’s last novel, and see that my dear Frederic’s monkey is
washed in rose-water every morning, without fail.”
“What! my gracious mistress,” asked Lisbeth, “is there a chance that Mr.
Frederic will come back?”
“Yes, indeed; and we must do everything that he wishes, so that he may
be glad to see me again. I must arrange a surprise for him.”
Poor mother!