“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.  “What I say is true, and it may be that our meeting, turbulent as it has been, will prevent you from making a great mistake.  He whom you would put on the throne is not the man you think.”

“My dear ward!” cried Cologne, “how can you make such accusations against him?  What should a girl living in seclusion as you live, know of what is passing in Frankfort.”

“It seems strange, Guardian, but it is true, nevertheless.  Sit down again, I beg of you, and you, my Lord of Treves.  Even my Lord of Mayence will, I think, comprehend my abhorrence when such a proposal was made to me, and I hope, my Lord, you will forgive my outburst of anger just now.”

She heard the trembling Treves mutter: 

“Mayence never forgives.”

“Now, Father Ambrose, come forward.”

“Why?” asked Ambrose, waking from his reverie.

“Tell them your experiences in Frankfort.”

“I am not allowed to speak,” objected the monk.

“Speak, speak!” cried Cologne.  “What, sir, have you had to do with this girl’s misleading?”

“I thought,” he said wistfully to his kinswoman, “that I was not to mention my visit to Frankfort unless my Lord the Archbishop brought up the subject.”

“Have you not been listening to these proceedings?” cried the girl impatiently.  “The subject is brought up before three Archbishops, instead of before one.  Tell their Lordships what you know of Prince Roland.”

Father Ambrose, with a deep sigh, began his recital, to which Treves and Cologne listened with ever-increasing amazement, while the sullen Mayence sat back in his chair, face imperturbable, but the thin lips closing firmer and firmer as the narrative went on.

When the monologue ended, his Reverence of Cologne was the first to speak: 

“In the name of Heaven, why did you not tell me all this yesterday?”