"
"To-morrow," cried the girl, "I shall robe myself in the oldest garments
I possess, and will rummage those dusty archives until I find the
letters of him who was Archbishop in 1250."
"I have bestowed that task upon one less impulsive. Father Ambrose is
the searcher, and he and I will put our wise old heads together in
consultation over them before entrusting them to the perusal of that
impetuous young noblewoman, the present Countess von Sayn."
The impetuous person referred to brought down her hand with a peremptory
impact upon the table, and exclaimed emphatically:
"My Lord Archbishop, I shall read those letters to-morrow."
Once more the Archbishop placed his hand on hers, this time, however,
clasping it firmly in his own. There was no smile on his face as he said
gravely:
"My lady, to-morrow you will face three living Archbishops, more
difficult, perhaps, to deal with than one who is dust."
"Three!" she cried, startled, a gleam of apprehension troubling her fine
eyes. "My Lords of Mayence, Treves, and yourself? Are they coming here?"
"The conclave of the Archbishops will be held at Castle Stolzenfels, the
Rhine residence of my brother of Treves.
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