Jo?zef Ignacy Kraszewski

Soon after the events described, one day after dinner, which was served in those days before two in the Castle, BrÜhl entered his house.

On his face, usually serene, one could see traces of irritation. He glanced at the clock and hastened to his dressing-room. Four lackeys here waited for his Excellency, the fifth was Henniche standing at the door; his face was very sour.

BrÜhl having noticed him, asked:

'What do you want?'

'A very important affair,' said Henniche.

'I have no time just now,' said BrÜhl impatiently. 'I am still more pressed than your Excellency,' muttered the factotum.

Seeing that he would not be able to get rid of him, BrÜhl came to him and waited to hear what he had to say. But the councillor shook his head, signifying that he could not speak before witnesses. BrÜhl took him into the next room, locked the door, and said:

'Speak quickly.'

Henniche put his bony hand into one of his pockets, took from it something shining, and handed it to BrÜhl.

It was a medal as large as a thaler. BrÜhl took it to the window, for the day was dark, and examined it: one side of it represented a throne with a man in a sitting posture, dressed in a morning gown and holding a pipe; it was easy to guess that it represented the young KurfÜrst; three men, two of them in pages' costumes, the third one in livery, supported the throne. On the other side could be read the following verse relating to BrÜhl, Sulkowski and Henniche:

Wir sind unserer drei
Zwei Pagen und ein Lakai.

BrÜhl threw the medal on the floor; Henniche stooped and picked it up from under the sofa where it had rolled. BrÜhl was angry and thoughtful.

'What does your Excellency say to that?' said Henniche.

'What? Give me the man who did it, and you shall see,' cried BrÜhl.

'It was stamped in Holland,' said Henniche, 'and we cannot get at them there. But it came from Saxony, for in Holland nobody cares that I was a lackey and both your Excellencies were pages. It came from Saxony!'

'Then we must find the man who did it,' cried BrÜhl. 'Don't spare money, but find him.'

Henniche shrugged his shoulders.

'Give me that medal,' said BrÜhl. 'Where did you get it from?'

'Someone put it on my desk. I have no doubt you will find one also.'

'I shall send the culprit to KÖnigstein,' cried BrÜhl. 'We made Erell ride on a donkey, but this one will be safer in a dungeon.'

'In the first place we must find him,' muttered Henniche. 'I will attend to that.'

'We must buy out the medal and destroy it and you will find the culprit. One can do a great deal with a couple of thousand thalers. Send some intelligent man to Holland.'

'I shall go myself,' said Henniche, 'and I shall find him. He would not be a man who, having done such a witty thing, did not boast about it to anybody. We shall get him.'

BrÜhl was in a hurry, so he nodded and went out. Henniche left the room also.

The minister, still gloomier now, washed his face, dressed carefully, matching his sword, snuff-box, wig and hat to his suit. The carriage waited at the door. As soon as he got in, the equipage rolled towards the suburb of Wilsdurf. At the entrance to it, he stopped the carriage, put on a light cloak, told the coachman to return, waited till the carriage was at a certain distance, looked round carefully, and seeing only common people he advanced and turned towards a large garden; he followed a path till he came to a gate of which he had the key; he looked once more round, opened the door and entered a small garden at the end of which could be seen a modest country house surrounded by lilac bushes. The birds chirped in the bushes--everything else was quiet.

BrÜhl, with bent head and thoughtful, walked slowly along the path bordered with trees. The noise of an opening window woke him up. In the window appeared a very beautiful lady who seemed to expect him. He caught sight of her and his face brightened. He took off his hat and saluted her, putting his left hand on his heart.

Those who knew the perfect splendour of the unrivalled beauty of the Countess Cosel, then locked up in a solitary castle, would recognise in the lady standing at the window some likeness to that unfortunate woman. She was not as beautiful as her mother, not having her regular features, but she inherited her dignified and majestic mien and the power of her glance.

The lady standing at the window was the Countess Moszynski, whose husband was preparing in Warsaw for the election of the Prince. She preferred to remain in Dresden.

When BrÜhl reached the threshold she came to meet him. The interior of the house was more luxurious than one would have expected from its modest exterior. It was ornamented with mirrors, luxurious furniture and full of the scent of flowers. In the first large, quiet room, there was a table set for two people, shining with silver, china and cut glass.

'So late--' whispered the Countess, whose hand BrÜhl kissed.

'Yes,' answered the minister, looking at his watch set with diamonds, 'but I was prevented by an important and unpleasant incident.'

'Unpleasant? What was it?'

'Let us not speak about it to-day. I should like to forget it.'

'But I would like to know it.'

'My dear Countess, you shall learn it in time,' said BrÜhl, sitting opposite her. 'It is no wonder that a man who has reached my position by degrees has enemies in those who remain behind him, and who avenge their inferiority by calumnies.'

The Countess listened attentively, made a trifling movement with her hand, and said:

'Calumnies! And you are so weak that you pay attention to them, that they hurt you? I should have my doubts about you, my dear Henry, if you are so weak. The one who wishes to play a great part in the world, must pay no heed to the hissing of spectators. It does not amount to anything. If you feel hurt by such trifles, you will never rise high. One must be superior to such things.'

'A vile insult,' rejoined BrÜhl.

'What do you care about the barking of a dog behind a hedge?'

'It irritates me.'

'Be ashamed of yourself.'

'You do not know what there is in question.'

Having said this BrÜhl took the medal from his pocket and showed it to the Countess. She looked at both sides, read the inscription, smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and wanted to throw it through the window, but BrÜhl stopped her.

'I need it,' said he.

'What for?'

'I must find out who did it. The joke came from Saxony. If we don't punish the man who did it--'

'In the first place you must find him,' said the Countess, 'and then you had better think it over, if by taking revenge you would not be giving too great an importance to some childish folly.'

'They are too daring,' cried BrÜhl. 'We were obliged to make Erell ride a donkey through the town, and it would be necessary to send the man who ordered this medal to be struck, to KÖnigstein.'

The Countess shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.

'Believe me, it would be better to leave vengeance to Sulkowski,' she said. 'As long as you share the responsibility of state affairs with, him, see that everything painful falls on him; you take that which is agreeable. But I hope that you will not be long in partnership with him,' she added.

'I don't know how long it will last,' said BrÜhl. 'As far as I can see, we must wait till he makes some mistake through being too confident about his own powers.'

'You are right, and that will come soon. Sulkowski is very proud and too conceited; he thinks that he can do anything he likes with the Prince. One must give him a chance to turn a summersault. In the meantime il tirera les marrons du feu.'

The Countess laughed, BrÜhl remained gloomy.

An intelligent-looking servant, wearing high-heeled shoes and dressed like Liotard's famous 'Chocolate girl,' brought in a silver soup tureen. She smiled to BrÜhl as she put the dish on the table and disappeared.

The tÊte À tÊte dinner was animated by a lively conversation. The Countess asked about FrÄulein Kling, about her mission, even about BrÜhl's coming marriage.

'I don't think that you will cease to love me,' she said sighing, 'the girl does not love you, and you are indifferent towards her; you marry to win favour with the Princess and the old Countess Kolowrath; I know that and therefore I keep quiet.'

'You are right,' said BrÜhl, 'I have not a second heart, and the one I had, I gave to you. I marry because it is necessary, as it is necessary also for me to share government affairs with Sulkowski.'

'Try to become indispensable to the Prince: amuse him, hunt with him, leave him as little as possible. If I am not mistaken, Sulkowski will wish to take it easy, to play the part of the grand seigneur, you must become indispensable to the King,--I call him king already, for I am certain that he will be elected. He must have somebody always near him, he is weak, and likes the faces he is most accustomed to. You must remember all this.'

'Dear Countess!' said BrÜhl, taking hold of her hand, 'be my guide, my Egeria, my Providence, and I shall be sure of my future.'

At that moment voices were heard at the gate. The servant rushed in frightened. The Countess rose frowning, angry.

'What is it?' she cried.

'Some one--I don't know, somebody from the court, with a letter or invitation, asks to be admitted.'

'Here? But who could have told him that I was here? I don't receive anyone here.'

Hardly had she pronounced the last words, when amongst the trees in the garden appeared a man in a chamberlain's dress. The gardener tried to bar his way but the chamberlain, paying no heed to him, advanced slowly. BrÜhl bent forward, looked through the window, recognised Watzdorf and at a signal from the Countess withdrew to the next room, closing the door behind him. The Countess ordered the servant to remove the second plate from the table, which was done in the twinkling of an eye, but the second glass was forgotten. The Countess sat at the table, looking with uneasiness towards the garden: she frowned and trembled with anger. In the meanwhile Watzdorf came to the house and seeing the Countess through the window, said to the gardener:

'I told you that the Countess was here, I knew it.' Saying this he bowed with an ironical smile, looking impudently round as if expecting to see someone else.

The Countess assumed a very severe expression when he entered.

'What are you doing here?' she asked threateningly.

'I beg a thousand pardons! I am the most awkward of men and the most unfortunate of chamberlains. The Prince gave me a letter for you. I went to your palace but could not find you there. The Prince's letter is very urgent. I was obliged to try and find you, and I came here.'

'I am not surprised that you tracked me like a hound,' hissed the Countess, 'but I don't like to be the game.'

Watzdorf appeared to be delighted at her anger. He glanced at the chair on which hung a napkin left, by BrÜhl. The Countess noticed when he smiled at this discovery. She did not grow confused; but was angry in the highest degree.

'Where is that letter?' she asked.

Watzdorf smiled ironically and began to search his pockets, muttering in the meanwhile impertinently:

'Well, this house is charmingly situated for two.'

He took out several things and among them as if by accident the medal, then he added:

'Just imagine the daring of these agitators! Who could have expected anything like this?'

He put the medal on the table and searched further in his pockets. The Countess took the medal and looked at it, pretending that she had not seen it before: then she said indifferently, replacing it on the table:

'A very poor joke indeed! It does not hurt anybody.'

Watzdorf looked at her.

'It might suggest something to the Prince.'

'What?' asked the Countess.

'That he might find other props,' said Watzdorf.

'Whom? You, Frosch and Horch?'

'Countess, you are malicious.'

'With you one might become mad. Where is that letter?'

'I am in despair! It seems that I have lost it.'

'Running after me for the purpose of amusing me,' muttered the Countess, 'to disturb me when I wish to be alone.'

'Alone!' Watzdorf repeated, smiling ironically and looking at the chair with the napkin.

'I understand you,' the Countess burst out. 'Did the Count Moszynski tell you to spy on me?'

At that moment the rustling of a silk dress was heard, and a lady who a few minutes previously had entered the room and slipped behind a Chinese screen, came slowly to the centre of the room.

Watzdorf was struck dumb with amazement. There was something so unusual in the apparition that even the Countess trembled.

The lady was tall and not young; her gaze was piercing; her mien majestic; her face beautiful notwithstanding her age; she was dressed so strangely that one might have thought she was mad. She wore a large gown, bordered with galoons. The girdle worn on the dress underneath was golden with black cabalistic signs; on her black hair she wore a kind of turban with a band made of parchment inscribed with Hebrew letters, the ends of the band hanging over her shoulders.

She looked piercingly at the intruder, frowned contemptuously, and said severely:

'What do you wish for here? Did you come to spy on my daughter and her mother in order to entertain the Prince by telling him that you have seen the old Cosel? You son of "the pagan and buffoon from Mansfeld," do you intend to annoy me also? Get out! Let us alone!'

She pointed to the door. Watzdorf, confused, retreated. His eyes shone angrily--he went out. Cosel followed him with her eyes, then she turned to her daughter.

It was not her day for her visit from Stolpen, and this time the Countess Moszynski did not expect her. Thinking that BrÜhl when he saw Watzdorf go out would return, she grew confused. The Countess Cosel sat on the chair previously occupied by BrÜhl. After having driven off the intruder she became almost absent-minded as she struck the table with her white and still beautiful hand and gazed round the room.

'I came unexpectedly,' she said at length, not looking at her daughter, 'but you permitted me to receive people here whom I wished to see. I asked the minister to come here.'

Moszynski's face expressed surprise.

'Don't be afraid; I expect him only towards evening,' added Cosel. 'But who was here with you? Why did he hide?'

Moszynski was silent, not knowing what to answer: her mother looked at her silently with a kind of pity.

'I understand,' said she with a disdainful smile. 'Some court intrigue. New master, new servants; you must try not to fall on that slippery ice.'

What Moszynski was afraid of happened at that moment. BrÜhl appeared at the door, and having perceived the woman whom he had never seen before but guessed who she was, became dumb with astonishment and did not know what to do.

Moszynski blushed, then grew pale. Cosel looked at the man, trying as it seemed to guess his character.

'Then it is he?' said she smiling. 'Who is he?'

'The minister BrÜhl,' her daughter answered.

'Everything new now! BrÜhl! I don't remember. Come nearer,' she said to BrÜhl, 'don't be afraid. You see before you a priestess of a new faith. Have you heard of me? I am the widow of Augustus the Strong. I was his wife. You see the Countess Cosel, famous throughout the world both for her success and her misfortunes. At my feet lay the rulers of the world, I commanded millions. Augustus loved nobody but me.'

She spoke quietly; her daughter did not dare to interrupt her; BrÜhl stood silent, and leaning a little forward seemed to listen attentively.

'You have chanced to see the queen who has come from another world--she was dead, buried, but she is still living in order to convert unbelievers to the true faith of the one God who appeared to Moses in a burning bush.'

The Countess Moszynski trembled and by her furtive looks seemed to beseech her mother to be silent.

Perchance Cosel understood that look, for she rose and said:

'I am going to rest, I shall not interrupt your councils any more. Cosel's daughter ought to rule over Saxony--I understand--'

Having said this she moved majestically towards the same door by which BrÜhl had entered, and through which she disappeared.

By the other door the servant appeared with a dish.

'I am going,' whispered BrÜhl, taking his hat. 'It is an unlucky day, but I am glad that that malicious Watzdorf did not see me here.'

'He had a medal,' said the Countess, 'he was delighted with it: I see that he is your bitter foe. What have you done to him?'

'Nothing, except that I was too polite to him.'

'He is a poisonous snake, I know him,' said the Countess.

'He is a buffoon like his father,' BrÜhl said contemptuously, 'but if he gets in my way--'

'That inscription on the medal, does it not sound like some of his sneers?'

BrÜhl looked at the Countess; her suspicion seemed to be probable.

'I shall give orders that he is to be watched,' he said shortly. 'If it is as you think, he is not long for this world.'

Having said this he kissed the Countess's hand, took his mantle, thrown into a dark corner near the door and therefore not observed by Watzdorf, and went out.

He returned by the same path by which he came full of hope for a long and free conversation; now he was thinking how he could return home without being noticed.

He passed the gate neglecting to keep a look-out and he needed all his presence of mind in order not to betray his emotion, when he perceived Watzdorf standing opposite and saluting him with an ironical smile.

BrÜhl returned the salute with perfect ease and amiability.

'You here!' BrÜhl exclaimed. 'How glad I am!'

'It is I who can call myself happy,' said Watzdorf, 'for I never expected to meet your Excellency under the apple trees. If I remember well, the fruit of an apple tree is called forbidden.'

'Yes,' said BrÜhl laughing. 'But I did not come for forbidden fruit. The Countess Cosel wished to see me, for she has a request to make to the Prince.'

There was so much probability in it that Watzdorf became confused.

'And you, chamberlain, what are you doing in the country?' asked BrÜhl.

'I was searching for happiness which I cannot find elsewhere,' Watzdorf muttered.

'Under the apple trees?'

'One might find it more easily there than at court.'

'I see you do not like court life?'

'I have no talent for it,' answered Watzdorf walking beside BrÜhl.

'But you have wit, a sharp tool, with which you need not be afraid of anything.'

'Yes, it's a good tool for making enemies,' said Watzdorf.

They walked in silence for a while. Watzdorf appearing to think over something.

'I have not yet had the opportunity to present my congratulations to your Excellency,' said he.

'What?' asked BrÜhl.

'They say that the most able minister is going to marry the most beautiful young lady in the court.'

There was so much passion in his voice, that it struck BrÜhl suddenly that Watzdorf might be the man whom the beautiful Frances loved. It was only a supposition, or rather a presentiment. BrÜhl trembled. 'If that is so, then the author of the medal and the beloved of my future wife must be put in a safe place,' he thought.

But nothing was yet proved. They looked at each other smiling, but with hatred in their hearts. The more BrÜhl hated anyone the more sweet he was towards him: it was not in vain that he had been brought up in the school of Augustus the Strong.

'Your Excellency neglects the Prince,' said Watzdorf. 'The Count Sulkowski is too busy, and Frosch and Horch and Padre Guarini do not suffice for him.'

BrÜhl smiled as sweetly as he could.

'You are right, I should like to compete even with Frosch and Horch to amuse our gracious Prince, but I have no time, for I must try to conquer the heart of the young lady of whom you have just made mention.'

'That is not necessary,' said Watzdorf, 'the one who shall have her hand, and the rest--does not need her heart. It might be left to someone else. Your Excellency has an excellent example of this in the Count Moszynski, who does not care for his wife's heart.'

BrÜhl blushed; he stopped, still smiling, but he was out of patience with this preaching man.

'My dear sir,' he said, 'let us speak frankly: have I done you any wrong that you should prick me, or is it only a habit of yours to bite everybody?'

'Both,' answered Watzdorf, 'but I did not expect that such a giant as your Excellency would feel the pricking of such a small fly as I am.'

'I feel no pain,' said BrÜhl, 'but it tickles me. Would is not be better to make a friend of me?'

Watzdorf laughed.

'Ministers have no friends,' he said, 'it is written in the most elementary catechism of politicians.'

Here Watzdorf saluted and turned into a side street.

It was something like a declaration of war. BrÜhl was struck dumb with astonishment.

'He declares war? He must be crazy! Why such a dislike towards me? I must find out!'

He went swiftly homeward. As soon as he entered his house, he went to Henniche's office. Henniche was a little surprised at seeing him.

'Give orders that Chamberlain Watzdorf is to be watched,' said BrÜhl. 'But as Watzdorf is very cunning you must choose a man more cunning than he. Bribe Watzdorf's servants and search his papers.'

'Watzdorf?' repeated Henniche surprised. 'Have you any reason to suspect him?'

'Yes.'

'Must he be sacrificed?'

BrÜhl was thoughtful for a while.

'We shall see,' he said, 'I don't like to make enemies, but if it is necessary--'

'Is he in the way?'

'I don't like him.'

'One can always find something against him.'

'Yes, find it then, and have it in store,' muttered BrÜhl. 'I always tried to be amiable. I must show now that I can be threatening.'

Henniche looked at him ironically--BrÜhl left the room without having noticed it.

Watzdorf, who at the turn of the road separated from BrÜhl, walked swiftly at first, then slowly, wandering without any aim. His face was gloomy, for he felt that in satisfying his own irritation he had committed a grave mistake which he would redeem very dearly. He was too angry with BrÜhl to be able to control himself.

Watzdorf although brought up at the court and accustomed to look at its perversity, which might corrupt him also, was a man to be feared for his honesty and integrity. All who surrounded him shocked him. The air which he breathed seemed to him infected and he was disgusted with it.

His love for Frances Kolowrath also contributed to make him hate the world, which had corrupted the beautiful girl. He saw all her faults: coquettishness, levity, pride, egotism and lack of heart, but notwithstanding that, he loved her madly, weeping over her and himself. All her drawbacks he attributed to her education, to the court and its customs, the air which she breathed.

He was in despair.---All noticed lately that Watzdorf had grown gloomy and irritable to a degree. If he could he would avenge her on somebody, and as BrÜhl was Frances's fiancÉ, on him he concentrated his whole anger.

The courtiers, his former friends, avoided Watzdorf: some of them spoke frankly, that he was smelling like a corpse.

Having nothing else to do he went almost mechanically towards Faustina's house. The first part of the mourning was over and there were already whispers of an opera. Sulkowski and BrÜhl knowing how fond the Prince was of music and of Faustina, were inclined to persuade him to have a performance.

Although Hasse was the husband of the diva they did not live together. Il divino Sassone, as the Italians called him, occupied a separate house. Faustina's house was luxuriously furnished. She gave the orders for each performance, and received those who applied for appointments at the theatre.

Watzdorf asked the lackey if his mistress was at home, and received an answer in the affirmative. When announced, and entering the drawing-room, he found the beautiful Italian standing in the centre of the room; while Padre Guarini, dressed in civilian's clothes was walking to and fro. His face was smiling while Faustina was red with anger.

Guarini, seeing Watzdorf, said to him, pointing to the singer:

'Look what this woman is doing with me, the most peaceful man in the world. Furioso diavolo! Furioso! If she was singing instead of shrieking--'

Faustina turned to Watzdorf.

'Be my witness,' she shrieked, 'he wishes to make a puppet of me that I may not have my own will. To-morrow his protÉgÉ would ruin my theatre. No, he must be dismissed!'

'Why?' said Guarini quietly. 'Because the beautiful youth does not admire you? Because he prefers the blue eyes of the Frenchwoman to yours?'

Faustina clapped her hands.

'Do you hear him, that abominable prete?' cried she. 'Do I need his homage? Have I not enough of that? I am disgusted with it!'

'Yes, as if woman had ever enough of it,' laughed Guarini.

'But about whom, is this question?' asked Watzdorf.

'Un poverino!' the Jesuit answered, 'whom that pitiless woman wished to drive from the theatre.'

'Un assassino! Un traditore! Una spia!' cried Faustina.

Watzdorf, although feeling sad, was amused by this quarrel between a priest and an actress.

'I shall reconcile you,' said he, 'wait!'

They both looked at him, for the reconciliation was a doubtful one.

'Let the culprit go,' said Watzdorf, 'and in his place, as a good actor is necessary, put one of the ministers. There are no better actors than they! And as Faustina would not quarrel with a minister, there will be peace.'

Guarini nodded, Faustina became silent, and threw herself on a sofa. The Jesuit took the chamberlain by the arm and led him to the window.

'Carissimo!' he said sweetly, 'it is still very far to hot weather, and you seem already to be sun-struck.'

'No, I am not mad yet,' said Watzdorf, 'I cannot guarantee, however, that I shall not become mad soon.'

'What is the matter with you? Confess!'

'Shall Faustina's knee be a confessional?'

'What a heathen!' laughed the Jesuit, 'What is the matter with you? Tell me!'

'The world seems to me stupid, that's all!'

'Carissimo! Perdona,' said the Jesuit. 'But it seems to me that you are stupid, if you say such things. I shall give you some advice. When you have an excess of bad humour, go into the forest; there you may swear as much as you like, shout as much as you like, and then return to town quieted. You know that in old times they used that remedy for those who could not hold their tongues.'

Watzdorf listened indifferently.

'I pity you,' added Guarini.

'If you knew how I pity you all,' Watzdorf sighed. 'But who could say whose pity is the better?'

'Then let us leave it,' said the Jesuit taking his hat. He came to Faustina and bowed to her humbly.

'Once more I pray your Excellency for the poverino, don't dismiss him for my sake.'

'You can do what you please without me,' answered Faustina, 'but should you force me to sing with him, I give you my word that I shall slap his face in public.'

Guarini inclined his head, bowed, and went to the Prince with his report.

It was the hour of rest which Frederick enjoyed after doing nothing the whole day. The hour in which he smoked his pipe, enjoyed the tricks of Frosch and Horch, and the company of BrÜhl and Sulkowski, for no one else could see him then.

Guarini entered whenever he liked. He was the more amiable companion. The Prince was fond of laughing, and Guarini made him laugh: when he wanted to be silent, Guarini was silent: when asked a question, he answered mirthfully, never contradicting.

BrÜhl was alone in the room with the KurfÜrst. He stood at the master's chair and whispered something. The Prince listened attentively and nodded.

'Father, do you hear what BrÜhl says?' said the Prince to the Jesuit as he entered.

Guarini came nearer.

'Speak on,' said Frederick.

BrÜhl began to talk, looking significantly at Guarini.

'He is ironical, and for a long time has been too biting and too bitter.'

'Oh! That's too bad!' the Prince whispered.

'About whom is this question?' asked the Jesuit.

'I have dared to call his Royal Highness's attention to Chamberlain Watzdorf.'

Guarini recalled his meeting with the man.

'The fact is,' he said, 'that I also find him strange.'

'And at the court it is contagious,' BrÜhl added. The Prince sighed, evidently already bored, and did not answer.

'Where is that fool Frosch?' he said suddenly. 'I am sure he is already asleep in some corner.'

The Jesuit ran to the door and made a sign. Frosch and Horch rushed into the room so precipitously that Horch fell down and Frosch jumped on his back. The Prince began to laugh heartily.

The humiliated Horch tried to avenge himself on his adversary, rose, thinking that he could shake him off, but the cautious little man slipped down and hid behind a chair.

Frederick's eyes followed them--he was anxious to see the result of the contest. Behind the chair both fools, squealing, began to fight. Frederick laughed and forgot all about what he had heard that day. It would be difficult to say how long this would have lasted if Guarini had not whispered to the Prince that it was time to go to the chapel for prayers; the Prince becoming suddenly grave went with the Jesuit to the chapel, where the Princess was already awaiting them.