"It is these white-faced ninnies can be most sly," replied the
Countess, out of her worldly wisdom. "Listen a moment now." And
she related, with interest rather than discount, you may be sure,
what she had witnessed that afternoon.

The malevolence deepened in his face. He had never loved Sophia,
and he felt none the kinder towards her for her recent trip to
Zell. Then, too, being a libertine, and the father of a
libertine, it logically followed that unchastity in his women-
folk was in his eyes the unpardonable sin.

He heaved himself out of his deep chair. "How far has this
gone?" he demanded.

Prudence restrained the Countess from any over-statement that
might afterwards be disproved. Besides, there was not the need,
if she could trust her senses. Patience and vigilance would
presently afford her all the evidence required to damn the pair.
She said as much, and promised the Elector that she would
exercise herself the latter quality in his son's service. Again
the Elector did not find it grotesque that his mistress should
appoint herself the guardian of his son's honour.

The Countess went about that congenial task with zeal--though
George's honour was the least thing that concerned her. What
concerned her was the dishonour of Sophia, and the ruin of
Koenigsmark. So she watched assiduously, and set others, too, to
watch for her and to report. And almost daily now she had for the
Elector a tale of whisperings and hand-pressings, and secret