“Ordener! Ordener!” repeated the stranger, with singular agitation, while her hands crumpled the white embroideries of her veil. “And what is his father’s name?” she asked in a troubled voice. “I do not know,” replied the girl. “What are his family and his father to me? This Ordener, noble lady, is the most generous of men.” Alas! the accent with which these words were spoken revealed Ethel’s secret to the sharp-sighted stranger. She assumed an air of calm composure, and asked, without taking her eyes from the girl’s face: “Have you heard of the approaching marriage of the viceroy’s son to the daughter of the present lord chancellor, d’Ahlefeld?” She was obliged to repeat her question before Ethel’s mind could grasp an idea which did not interest her. “I believe I have,” was her answer. Her calmness, and her indifferent manner, seemed to surprise the stranger. “Well, what do you think of this marriage?” It was impossible to note the slightest change in Ethel’s large eyes as she replied: “Nothing, truly. May their union be a happy one!” “Counts Guldenlew and d’Ahlefeld, the fathers of the young couple, are both bitter enemies of your father.” “May their marriage be blessed!” gently repeated Ethel. “I have an idea,” continued the crafty stranger. “If your father’s life be really threatened, you might obtain his pardon through the viceroy’s son upon the occasion of this great marriage.” “May the saints reward you for your kind thought for us, noble lady; but how should my petition reach the viceroy’s son?” These words were spoken in such good faith that they drew a gesture of surprise from the stranger. “What! do you not know him?” “That powerful lord!” cried Ethel. “You forget that I have never been outside the walls of this fortress.” “Truly,” muttered the tall woman between her teeth. “What did that old fool of a Levin tell me? She does not know him. Still, that is impossible,” said she; then, raising her voice: “You must have seen the viceroy’s son; he has been here.” “That may be, noble lady; of all the men who have been here, I have never seen but one,--my Ordener.” “Your Ordener!” interrupted the stranger. She added, without seeming to notice Ethel’s blushes: “Do you know a young man with noble face, elegant figure, grave and dignified bearing? His expression is gentle, yet firm; his complexion fresh as that of a maiden; his hair chestnut.” “Oh!” cried poor Ethel, “that is he; it is my betrothed, my adored Ordener! Where did you meet him? He told you that he loved me, did he not? He told you that he has my whole heart. Alas! a poor prisoner has nothing but her love to give. My noble friend! It was but a week ago,--I can see him still on this very spot, with his green mantle, beneath which beats so generous a heart, and that black plume, which waved so gracefully above his broad brow.”