“Countess,” he said,—­and became embarrassed when he met her clear bright eye fixed upon him.

“Prince,” said the Countess, “an hour ago you were somewhat too bold.”

“Fair Countess, I am therefore at this present moment the more quiet.”

“So much the better.  I shall not, then, be obliged to keep out of your way.”

“Fair lady, allow me to ask one question.  Have you put on a nun’s gown to do penance for your sins?”

“I have nothing to do penance for.”

“But you have, Countess!—­your cruelties—­your injustice to the poor Brahmin yonder, who seems neglected by his God and all the world.”

The beautiful Carmelite cast down her eyes, and appeared uneasy.

“And do you know, fair Countess, that in the Freudenwald affair the Chamberlain is as innocent as I am?”

“As you, Prince?” said the Countess, frowning, “what did you tell me an hour ago?”

“You are right, dear Countess, I was too bold.  You said so yourself.  But now I declare to you the Chamberlain was obliged to go to Freudenwald by command of the Queen-mother—­against his will was obliged to be cavalier to the hated Reizenthal—­”

“Hated—­by him?”—­interrupted the Countess with a bitter and sneering laugh.

“Yes—­he hates,—­he despises the Baroness.  Believe me, he scarcely treated her with civility, and incurred the Royal displeasure by so doing.  I know it; and it was for your sake.  You are the only person he loves—­to you he offers his hand, his heart—­and you!—­you reject him!”

“How comes it, Prince, that you intercede so warmly for Pilzou?  You did not do so formerly.”

“That was because I did not know him, and still less the sad state into which you have thrown him by your behavior.  I swear to you he is innocent—­you have nothing to forgive in him—­he has much to forgive in you.”

“Hush!” whispered the Carmelite, “we are watched here; away from this.”  She replaced her mask, stood up, and placing her arm within that of the supposed Prince, they crossed the hall and entered a side-room.  The Countess uttered many bitter complaints against the Chamberlain, but they were the complaints of jealous love.  The Countess was in tears, when the tender Brahmin soon after came timidly into the apartment.  There was a deep silence among the three.  Philip, not knowing how to conclude his intercession better, led the Brahmin to the Carmelite, and joined their hands together, without saying a word, and left them to fate.  He himself returned into the hall.

IV.

Here he was hastily addressed by a Mameluke:  “I’m glad I have met you, Domino.  Is the Rose-girl in the side-room?” The Mameluke rushed into it, but returned in a moment evidently disappointed.  “One word alone with you, Domino,” he said, and led Philip into a window recess in a retired part of the hall.