“The dear God and all His saints bless you, Walter, and bring you safely back to me--to us,” she altered, with no lack of color in her cheeks at this last. I muttered some smooth civilities to her, took leave of Moritz, and rode away. * * * * * All the time Adolf, Andrea, and I plodded wearily over the snow-drifted roads of Hesse I meditated upon my own attitude toward Ilsa. Clearly, I told myself, the young lady, once freed from the savage gloom of Blankenburg would develop into a gracious and seemly dame, well able to play the noble consort even to such an ambitious personage as the Graf von Regenstein. On the other hand, I reflected, in the cold calm manner which was my pride, that to marry such a portionless little creature would be sheer worldly folly. Her father’s broken condition was notorious, and could I not hope for almost any heiress in Saxony? If, however, I _did_ desire to win Ilsa, I made not the least doubt that the glory of an alliance in my quarter would end any idea of a ‘vocation’ for the convent. “Is not the little witch half in love with me already?” I deliberated, “and am I not half in love with her myself? Fie, Graf von Regenstein! Do not be so hasty. I am not yet resolved to spend all my days in this cold Germany. I may not succumb to the first flaxen-haired northern Gräfin! and whither are vanished my thoughts of Italy--and of you, O glorious Marianna?” Then I repeated to myself that I had a great career to carve for myself in the world, and must not let the naïve attractiveness of the daughter of a depraved mountain Graf (my admiration being mingled perchance with a little pity for her condition) interfere with my better judgment. “In two months I will see myself more clearly; it will be time then to make up my mind as to Ilsa.” So I completed my journey to Mainz, glad enough to see the spires of the old Cathedral city at last and to escape from the bad roads, and the worse hostelries. I halted at a very comfortable inn, on an afternoon, and was sitting down to a well-cooked meal in a pleasant room, intending to present my credentials at the Archbishop’s schloss the next day, when I heard shouting under the windows, and the rumbling as of a great coach passing. “Way! way for his sacred Eminence!” outriders were bawling. “Is it the Archbishop’s carriage?” I demanded of the serving boy. “Oh, no, gracious Herr; it is the great Italian Cardinal of Forli; he has come on the Pope’s business, people say.” Forli in Mainz? And if he, then assuredly Marianna. I fear I thought very little on Ilsa the rest of that day. FOOTNOTES: [6] The Friars were charged with being arrant beggars of dainties. CHAPTER XII THE VOICE OF ITALY