“But, Father Ambrose, you knew him as a lad, almost as a young man.  I have heard you speak highly of his promise.”

“He denied me; denied his own identity; threatened my life with his sword, and finally flung me into the most loathsome dungeon in all Frankfort!”

The girl uttered an ejaculation of dismay.  If so harsh an estimate of the heir-presumptive came from so mild and gentle a critic as Father Ambrose, then surely was this young man lower in the grade of humanity than even his bestial father.

“And yet,” said the girl to herself, “what else was to be expected?  Go on,” she murmured; “tell me from the beginning.”

“One evening, crossing the old bridge from Frankfort to Sachsenhausen, I saw approach me a swaggering figure that seemed familiar, and as he drew nearer I recognized Prince Roland, son of the Emperor, despite the fact that he held his cloak over the lower part of his face, as if, in the gathering dusk, to avoid recognition.

“‘Your Highness!’ I cried in surprise.  On the instant his sword was out, and as the cloak fell from his face, displaying lips which took on a sinister firmness, I saw that I was not mistaken in so accosting him.  He threw a quick glance from side to side, but the bridge, like the silent streets, was deserted.  We stood alone, beside the iron Cross, and there under the Figure of Christ he denied me, with the sharp point of his sword against my breast.

“‘Why do you dare address me by such a title?’

“‘You are Prince Roland, son of the Emperor.’

“The sword-point pressed more sharply.

“‘You lie!’ he cried, ’and if you reiterate that falsehood, you will pay the penalty instantly with your life, despite your monkish cowl.  I am nobody.  I have no father.’

“‘May I ask, then, sir, who you are?’

“’You may ask, but there is no reason for me to answer.  Nevertheless, to satisfy your impertinent curiosity, I inform you that I am an ironworker, a maker of swords, and if you desire a taste of my handiwork, you have but to persist in your questioning.  I lodge in the laboring quarter of Sachsenhausen, and am now on my way into Frankfort, which surely I have the right to enter free from any inquiry unauthorized by the law.’

“‘In that case I beg your pardon,’ said I.  ’The likeness is very striking.  I had once the honor to be chaplain at Court, where frequently I saw the young Prince in company with that noble lady, noble in every sense of the word, his mother, the Empress.’

“I watched the young man narrowly as I said this, and despite his self-control, he winced perceptibly, and I thought I saw a gleam of recognition in his eyes.  He thrust the sword back into its scabbard, and said with a light laugh: 

“’’Tis I that should beg your pardon for my haste and roughness.  I assure you I honor the cloth you wear, and would not willingly offer it violence.  We are all liable to make mistakes at times.  I freely forgive yours and trust you will extend a like leniency to mine.’