You dare not imprison
me!"
"Refuse to marry Prince Roland, and learn," said the Archbishop very
quietly.
The girl sprang to her feet, a-quiver with anger.
"I do refuse! Prince Roland has hoodwinked the three of you! He is a
libertine and a brawler, consorting with the lowest in the cellars of
Frankfort; a liar and a thief, and not a brave thief at that, but a
cutthroat who holds his sword to the breast of an unarmed merchant while
he filches from him his gold. Added to that, a drunkard as his father
is; and, above all, a hypocrite, as his father is not, yet clever
enough, with all his vices, to cozen three men whose vile rule has
ruined Frankfort, and left the broad Rhine empty of its life-giving
commerce;" she waved her hand toward the vacant river.
The Archbishop of Cologne was the first to rise, horror-stricken.
"The girl is mad!" he murmured.
Treves rose also, but Mayence sat still, a sour smile on his lips, yet a
twinkle of admiration in his eyes.
"No, my poor Guardian, I am not mad," she cried, regarding him with a
smile, her wrath subsiding as quickly as it had risen.
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