Perhaps, then, that sense of uneasiness felt by both the aged Father
Ambrose and the youthful Countess Hildegunde in the Archbishop's
presence came from their consciousness of conspiracy, resulting in the
ill-fated journey to Frankfort. Nevertheless, all that afternoon the two
were oppressed by the shadow of some impending danger, and the good
spirits of the Archbishop seemed to them assumed for the occasion, and
indeed in this they were not far wrong. His Lordship of Cologne was
keenly apprehensive regarding an important conference set down for the
next day, and the exuberance of an essentially serious man in such a
crisis is prone to be overdone.

Father Ambrose, who, in the midst of luxury and plenty, lived with the
abstemiousness of an anchorite, and always partook of his scant
refreshment alone in his cell, was invited by the Archbishop to a seat
at the table in the dining-hall.

"So long as you cast no look of reproach upon me for my enjoyment of
Sayn's most excellent cuisine, and my appreciation of its unequaled
cellar, I shall not comment on your dinner of parched peas and your
unexhilarating tankard of water. Besides, I wish to consult with Ambrose
the librarian of Sayn, touching the archives of this house, rather than
with Ambrose the superintendent of farms, or Father Ambrose the monk."

During the midday meal the Archbishop led, and at times monopolized, the
conversation.

"While you were under the tutelage of the good Sisters at Nonnenwerth
Convent, Hildegunde, the Abbess frequently spoke of your proficiency in
historical studies. Did you ever turn your attention to the annals of