"Ay, they love one another as men do who want the same place and
the same wife!"
The old woman glowered; but the last words pricked my curiosity, and I
interposed before she could begin scolding:
"What, the same wife, too! How's that, young lady?"
"All the world knows that Black Michael—well then, mother, the
duke—would give his soul to marry his cousin, the Princess Flavia, and that she
is to be the queen."
"Upon my word," said I, "I begin to be sorry for your
duke. But if a man will be a younger son, why he must take what the elder
leaves, and be as thankful to God as he can;" and, thinking of myself, I
shrugged my shoulders and laughed. And then I thought also of Antoinette de
Mauban and her journey to Strelsau.
"It's little dealing Black Michael has with—" began the girl,
braving her mother's anger; but as she spoke a heavy step sounded on the floor,
and a gruff voice asked in a
threatening tone:
"Who talks of 'Black Michael' in his Highness's own burgh?"