Excerpt: ...it best to keep what had been discovered regarding his character a secret between the Reverend Father and myself. I dare say an attempt will be made to cast doubt on the Reverend Father's story, and perhaps my three judges may convince themselves of its falseness, but they cannot convince me, and I tell you finally and formally that no power on earth will induce me to marry a marauder and a thief!" This announcement effectually silenced the one friend she possessed among the three. Mayence slowly turned his head, and looked upon the colleague at his right, as much as to say, "Do you wish to add your quota to this inconsequential talk?" Treves, at this silent appeal, leaned forward, and spoke to the perturbed monk, who knew that, in some way he did not quite understand, affairs were drifting towards a catastrophe. "Father Ambrose," began the Elector of Treves, "would you kindly tell us the exact date when this encounter on the bridge took place?" "Saint Cyrille's Day," replied Father Ambrose. "And during the night of that day you were incarcerated in the cellar among the wine-casks?" "Yes, my Lord." "Would it surprise you to know, Father Ambrose, that during Saint Cyrille's Day, and for many days previous to that date, Prince Roland was a close prisoner in his Lordship of Mayence's strong Castle of Ehrenfels, and that it was quite impossible for you to have met him in Frankfort, or anywhere else?" "Nevertheless, I did meet him," persisted Father Ambrose, with the quiet obstinacy of a mild man. Treves smiled. "Where did you lodge in Frankfort, Father?" "At the Benedictine Monastery in Sachsenhausen." "Do the good brethren supply their guests with a potent wine? Frankfort is, and always has been, the chief market of that exhilarating but illusion-creating beverage." The cheeks of the Countess flushed crimson at this insinuation on her kinsman's sobriety. The old monk's hand rested on the arm of her throne, and she placed her own hand upon his as if to...