At this Alexis secretly laughed. “She will come round,” said he; “she will finally be compelled to it by her own feelings. I will give her time and leisure to come to a knowledge of herself!” And for some days he kept away from the villa, pretending pressing business, and left the poor isolated princess to her languishing love-dreams. It was precisely in these days that, on one forenoon, a carriage of indifferent appearance, adorned with no heraldic arms, stopped before the villa; a man closely enveloped in a mantle, his hat pressed deeply down over his forehead, issued from the carriage and rang the bell. Of the servant who answered the bell he hastily inquired if the princess was at home and alone; these questions being answered in the affirmative, and the servant having asked his name in order to announce him, the stranger said, almost in a commanding tone: “The princess knows my name, and will gladly welcome me; therefore lead me directly to her!” “The princess receives no one,” said the servant, placing himself in a position to prevent the stranger’s entrance. “She will receive me,” said the unknown, dropping some gold-pieces into the servant’s hand. “I will conduct you to her,” said the suddenly mollified servant, “but I do it on your own responsibility.” Princess Natalie was in her boudoir. She was alone, and thinking, in a languishing reverie, of her friend, who had now been two days absent. On hearing a light knock at the door, she sprang up from her seat. “It is he!” she murmured, and with glowing cheeks she hastened to the door. But on finding there a strange and closely-enveloped form, Natalie timidly drew back. The stranger entered, closing the door behind him, threw back his mantle and took off the hat that shaded his face. “Cardinal Bernis!” cried Natalie, with surprise. “Ah, then you yet recognize me, princess!” said Bernis. “That is beautiful in you, and therefore you will not be angry with me for calling upon you unannounced. I knew that I should find you alone, and this was a too fortunate circumstance for me to let it pass unimproved. I must speak to you, princess, even at the hazard of proving tiresome.” Natalie said, with a soft smile: “You were the friend of Count Paulo, and therefore can never prove tiresome to me! I bid you welcome, cardinal!” “It is precisely because I was Count Paulo’s friend, that I have come!” said Bernis, seriously. “The count loved you, princess, and what I did not know at the time is known to me now. Because he loved and was devoted to you, he hazarded his life, and more than his life, his liberty.” “And they have robbed him of that precious liberty,” sighed Natalie. “For his fidelity to me they have condemned him to a shameful imprisonment!”