It was a young man who came towards him—a young man of small stature and a peculiar gait, wearing a wide flapping hat, and carrying, with great weariness, a heavy bag. Otto recoiled; but the young man held up his hand by way of signal, and coming up with a panting run, as if with the last of his endurance, laid the bag upon the ground, threw himself upon the bench, and disclosed the features of Madame von Rosen. ‘You, Countess!’ cried the Prince. ‘No, no,’ she panted, ‘the Count von Rosen—my young brother. A capital fellow. Let him get his breath.’ ‘Ah, madam . . . ’ said he. ‘Call me Count,’ she returned, ‘respect my incognito.’ ‘Count be it, then,’ he replied. ‘And let me implore that gallant gentleman to set forth at once on our enterprise.’ ‘Sit down beside me here,’ she returned, patting the further corner of the bench. ‘I will follow you in a moment. O, I am so tired—feel how my heart leaps! Where is your thief?’ ‘At his post,’ replied Otto. ‘Shall I introduce him? He seems an excellent companion.’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘do not hurry me yet. I must speak to you. Not but I adore your thief; I adore any one who has the spirit to do wrong. I never cared for virtue till I fell in love with my Prince.’ She laughed musically. ‘And even so, it is not for your virtues,’ she added. Otto was embarrassed. ‘And now,’ he asked, ‘if you are anyway rested?’ ‘Presently, presently. Let me breathe,’ she said, panting a little harder than before. ‘And what has so wearied you?’ he asked. ‘This bag? And why, in the name of eccentricity, a bag? For an empty one, you might have relied on my own foresight; and this one is very far from being empty. My dear Count, with what trash have you come laden? But the shortest method is to see for myself.’ And he put down his hand. She stopped him at once. ‘Otto,’ she said, ‘no—not that way. I will tell, I will make a clean breast. It is done already. I have robbed the treasury single-handed. There are three thousand two hundred crowns. O, I trust it is enough!’ Her embarrassment was so obvious that the Prince was struck into a muse, gazing in her face, with his hand still outstretched, and she still holding him by the wrist. ‘You!’ he said at last. ‘How?’ And then drawing himself up, ‘O madam,’ he cried, ‘I understand. You must indeed think meanly of the Prince.’ ‘Well, then, it was a lie!’ she cried. ‘The money is mine, honestly my own—now yours. This was an unworthy act that you proposed. But I love your honour, and I swore to myself that I should save it in your teeth. I beg of you to let me save it’—with a sudden lovely change of tone. ‘Otto, I beseech you let me save it. Take this dross from your poor friend who loves you!’ ‘Madam, madam,’ babbled Otto, in the extreme of misery, ‘I cannot—I must go.’