While waiting for the return of his messenger, Roland called upon Herr Goebel, and told him that twenty emissaries had gone forth in every direction from Frankfort to inform the farming community that a market had been opened in the city, and in exchange learned what the merchant had already done towards furthering the necessary organization.

“Oh, by the way, Herr Goebel,” he cried, suddenly recollecting, “just write out and sign a document to this effect:  ’I promise Herr Roland, sword maker of Sachsenhausen, to supply him with the capital necessary for carrying out his contract with his Lordship the Archbishop of Cologne.’”

Without demur the merchant indited the document, signed it, and gave it to the Prince.

“If any emissary of Mayence pays you a domiciliary visit, Herr Goebel, asking questions about me, carefully conceal my real status, and reply that I am an honest, skillful sword maker, anxious to revive the iron-working industry, and for this reason, being yourself solicitous for the welfare of Frankfort, you are risking some money.”

In the afternoon Roland walked to the Palace of Cologne and boldly entered, with no attempt at secrecy, the doorkeeper on this occasion offering no impediment to his progress.  He learned that the Empress, much fatigued, had retired to her room and must not be disturbed; that the Archbishop was consulting with the Count Palatine, while the Countess von Sayn was walking in the garden.  Roland passed with some haste through the Palace, and emerged into the grounds behind it:  grounds delightfully umbrageous, and of an extent surprisingly large, surrounded by a very high wall of stone, so solidly built that it might successfully stand a siege.

Roland found the girl sauntering very slowly along one of the most secluded alleys, whose gravel-path lay deeply in the shade caused by the thick foliage of over-hanging trees, which made a cool, green tunnel of the walk.  Her head was slightly bowed in thought, her beautiful face pathetic in its weariness, and the young man realized, with a pang of sympathy, that she was still to all intents and purposes a prisoner, with no companions but venerable people.  She could not, and indeed did not attempt to suppress an exclamation of delight at seeing him, stretching out both hands in greeting, and her countenance cleared as if by magic.

“I was thinking of you!” she cried, without a trace of coquetry.

“I judged your thoughts to be rather gloomy,” he said, with a laugh, in which she joined.

“Gloomy only because I could see or hear nothing of you.”

“Did you know I came yesterday?”

“No.  Why did you not ask to see me?”

“I was informed you were entertaining the Count Palatine.”

“Ah, yes.  He is a delightful old man.  I like him better and better as time goes on.  My guardian and I were guests of his at Gutenfels just before I occupied the marine prison of Pfalz.”