“Are you a partisan of his?”

“I come from Frankfort; have seen the Prince, and know I speak the truth.”

“Ah, well,” replied the girl lightly, “you and I will not quarrel over his Highness.  I accept your amendment, and will never more bear false witness against him.  After all, it makes slight difference one way or the other.  An Emperor goes, and an Emperor is elected in his place as powerless as his predecessor.  ’Tis the Archbishops who rule.”

“You seem well versed in politics, Madam.”

The girl leaned forward to him.

“Do not ‘madam’ me, I beg of you, Roland.  I dare say rumor has prejudiced me against the young man, but I have promised not to speak slightingly of him again.  I wish this veil of darkness was lifted, that I might see your face, to note the effect of anger.  Do you know, I am disappointed in you, Roland?  You spoke in such level tones in the courtyard that I thought anger was foreign to your nature.”

“I am not angry,” said Roland gruffly, “but I detest malicious gossip.”

“Oh, so do I, so do I!  I spoke thoughtlessly.  I will kneel to the new Emperor and beg his pardon, if you insist.”

Roland remained silent, and for a time they floated thus down the river, she trailing her fingers in the water, which made a pleasant ripple against them, looking up at him now and then.  Perceptibly the darkness was thinning.  One seemed to smell morning in the air.  A bird piped dreamily in the forest at intervals, as if only half-awakened.  The two women reclining in the prow were sound asleep.

Roland picked up the paddle, and with a strong, sweeping stroke turned the head of the boat towards the land.  Now she could see his lowering brow, and if the sight pleased her, ’twas not manifested in her next remark.

She took her hand from the water, drew herself up proudly, and said: 

“I shall not apologize to you again, and I hate your blameless Prince!”

“Madam, I ask for no apology, and whether you hate or like the Prince matters nothing to me, or, I dare say, to him, either.”

“Cannot you even allow a woman her privilege of the last word?” she cried indignantly.

Roland’s brow cleared, and a smile came to his lips, as he remained silent, thus bestowing upon her the prerogative she seemed to crave.  Hilda lay back in the prow of the boat between her sleeping women, with hands clasped behind her head, and her eyes closed.  More and more the light increased, and sturdily with his paddle Roland propelled the boat towards the shore, bringing it alongside the low bank at last.  He sprang out on the turf, and with the paddle in one hand held the boat to land with the other.

“We are now,” he said, “a short distance above St. Goarhausen, where I hope to purchase horses.  Will you kindly disembark?”

The girl, without moving, or opening her eyes, said quietly: 

“Please throw the paddle into the boat again.  I shall make for Nonnenwerth in this craft, which is more comfortable than a saddle.”