“His feeling, perhaps, would be one of astonishment, my Lord Count, but speaking for the Emperor, I am certain that he would never lay hands on the usurper, or treat him like a sack of corn in a yeoman’s barn.” The Count laughed heartily at this, and was relieved to find that this quitted him of the tension which the great presence had at first inspired. “Truth to tell, your Majesty, I am sorry I touched him. I should have requested him to withdraw, but my arm has always been more prompt in action than my tongue, as you can readily see since I came into this room.” “Indeed, Count, your tongue does you very good service,” continued the Emperor, “and I am glad to have from you an expression of regret. I hope, therefore, that you will have no hesitation in repeating that declaration to the Archbishop of Treves.” “Does your Majesty mean that I am to apologise to him?” “Yes,” answered the Emperor. There was a moment’s pause, then the Count said slowly: “I will surrender to your Majesty my person, my sword, my castle, and my lands. I will, at your word, prostrate myself at your feet, and humbly beg pardon for any offence I have committed against you, but to tell the Archbishop I am sorry when I am not, and to cringe before him and supplicate his grace, well, your Majesty, as between man and man, I’ll see him damned first.” Again the Emperor had some difficulty in preserving that rigidity of expression which he had evidently resolved to maintain. “Have you ever met a ghost, my Lord Count?” he asked. Winneburg crossed himself devoutly, a sudden pallor sweeping over his face. “Indeed, your Majesty, I have seen strange things, and things for which there was no accounting; but it has been usually after a contest with the wine flagon, and at the time my head was none of the clearest, so I could not venture to say whether they were ghosts or no.” “Imagine, then, that in one of the corridors of your castle at midnight you met a white-robed transparent figure, through whose form your sword passed scathlessly. What would you do, my Lord?” “Indeed, your Majesty, I would take to my heels, and bestow myself elsewhere as speedily as possible.” “Most wisely spoken and you, who are no coward, who fear not to face willingly in combat anything natural, would, in certain circumstances, trust to swift flight for your protection. Very well, my Lord, you are now confronted with something against which your stout arm is as unavailing as it would be if an apparition stood in your path. There is before you the spectre of subtlety. Use arm instead of brain, and you are a lost man.