“But we were glad you were not,” said Ilse.  “We were pleased when we saw you riding the great black horse directly back to the castle.  Do you mean to stay here all the time?”

“Where there is so much beauty and wit I should like to remain,” replied John with increasing gallantry, still holding his cap in his hands, “but who can tell where he will be a week hence in times like these?”

Again they laughed and nudged each other.  Ilse had a shrewd and observant mind.

“Your German has a French accent,” she said.

“I was born in a land that was once French—­Lorraine—­so my blood is French by descent, although I am wholly German in loyalty and in feeling.  But I’m not the first person of French blood that you ever saw, am I?”

He asked the question in a careless tone, but he awaited the answer with anxiety.

“Oh, no,” replied Ilse.  “Many people come to the great castle of Zillenstein.  Two Frenchwomen are here now, spies, terrible spies they say, but I can scarce believe it, at least of the young one, Mademoiselle Julie, who is so beautiful, and who speaks to us so gently.”

“But it may be true of the other of low degree, the surly Suzanne,” said blond Olga.

“At least, they’re where they can’t get back to France as long as this war lasts,” said John, looking up at the formidable castle.  “It seems a sad thing to me that women should be spies.  It isn’t right.”

He spoke in his most engaging manner.  Again his frank look and attractive smile were winning him friends where he needed friends most.  He saw, too, that he was on a subject that interested the maids.  Once more fortune was favoring him who wooed her so boldly.

“But,” said the blond and substantial Olga, “I think the beautiful Mademoiselle Lannes is in no danger.  The prince himself loves her and would marry her.  We can see it, can we not Ilse?”

“At least we think it.”

“We know it.  And His Highness might search Europe and not find a woman more beautiful.  She has the most wonderful hair, pure gold, with little touches of copper, when the firelight or the sunlight is deep upon it, and when loosed it falls to her knees.  I have seen it.”

“And marvelous blue eyes,” said Ilse.  “A dark blue like the waters of our mountain lakes.  Oh, no, the Prince of Auersperg can never punish her!”

John laughed.

“This French spy seems more dangerous as a captive than free,” he said.

“That is so,” said Ilse, seriously.  “If Prince Karl of Auersperg, powerful as he is, were disposed to punish her, the others would not let him.”

“What others?”

“The young Count Kratzek, the relative of the prince.  He loves her, too, and he scarcely seeks to hide it.  And Count Pappenheim, who is of kin to the emperor, worships her beauty.”

“The lady must be Psyche herself,” said John.

But not knowing who Psyche was, they shook their heads.