“Perhaps,” said the girl, very quietly.

“You are not convinced?”

“I don’t know what to think.”  Then she looked up at him quickly.  “Were you followed last night?”

“Ah!” ejaculated Roland, laughing a little “apparently not, so far as I could see, but the night was very dark.”  Then he related to her the incidents succeeding the return to his room, while she listened with breathless eagerness.  “The Lieutenant,” he concluded, “did not deny that he was in the service of Mayence when I hinted as much, but, on the other hand, he did not admit it.  Of course, I knew by his uniform to whom he belonged.  He conducted my examination with military abruptness, but skillfully and with increasing courtesy, although I proclaimed myself a mechanic.”

“You a mechanic!” she said incredulously.  “Do you think he believed it?”

“I see you doubt my histrionic ability, but when next he waits upon me I shall produce documentary evidence of my status, and, what is more, I’ll take to my workshop.”

“Do you possess a workshop?” cried the girl in amazement.

“Do I?  Why, I am partner with a man named Greusel, and we own a workshop together.  A gruff, clumsy individual, as you would think, but who, nevertheless, with his delicate hammer, would beat you out in metal a brooch finer than that you are wearing.”

“Do you mean Joseph?”

“Yes,” replied Roland, astonished.  “What do you know of him?”

“Have you forgotten so soon?  It was his stalwart shoulders that burst in my door at Pfalz, and you yourself told me his name was Joseph Greusel.  Were all those marauders you commanded honest mechanics?”

“Every man of them.”

“Then you must be the villain of the piece who led those worthy ironworkers astray?”

Roland laughed heartily.

“That is quite true,” he said.  “Have I fallen in your estimation?”

“No; to me you appeared as a rescuer.  Besides, I come of a race of ruffians, and doubtless on that account take a more lenient view of your villainy than may be the case with others.”

The young man stopped in his walk, and seized her hands again, which she allowed him to possess unresisting.

“Hilda,” he said solemnly, “your guardian thought the Archbishop of Mayence had relented, and would withdraw his opposition to our marriage.  Has Mayence said anything to corroborate that estimate?”

“Nothing.”

“Has your guardian broached the subject to him?”

“Yes; but the attitude of my Lord of Mayence was quite inscrutable.  Personally I think my guardian wrong in his surmise.  The Archbishop of Treves murmured that Mayence never forgives.  I am certain I offended him too deeply for pardon.  He wishes the future Empress to be a pliable creature who will influence her husband according to his Lordship’s desires, but, as I have boasted several times, I belong to the House of Sayn.”