Prince von Prankenberg was startled by the earnestness of the question. Had matters gone so far? Caution was requisite here. Energetic opposition could only produce the opposite result, perhaps a public scandal. He reflected a moment while apparently toiling to puff rings of smoke into the air, as if the world contained no task more important. His daughter's eyes rested on him with suspicious keenness. At last he seemed to have formed his plan.
"A secret marriage? Why, that is an easy matter for a woman of your wealth and independent position! Is the person in question a Catholic?"
"Well--then the matter is perfectly simple. Follow the example of Manzoni's _promessi sposi_, with whom we are sufficiently tormented while studying Italian. Go with your chosen husband to the pastor and declare before him, in the presence of two witnesses, who can easily be found among your faithful servants, that you take each other in marriage. According to the rite of the Catholic church, it is sufficient to constitute a valid marriage, if both parties make this declaration, even without the marriage ceremonial, in the presence of an ordained priest--your ordained priest in this case would be our old pastor at Prankenberg. You can play the farce best there. You will thus need no papers, no special license, which might betray you, and if you manage cleverly you will succeed in persuading the decrepit old man not to enter the marriage in the church register. Then let any one come and say that you are married! There will be absolutely no proof--and when the old pastor dies the matter will go down to the grave with him! You will choose witnesses on whom you can depend. What risk can there be?"
"Father! But will that be a marriage?" cried the countess in horror.
"Not according to _our_ ideas," said the prince, laconically: "But the point is merely that _he_ shall consider himself married, and that _he_ shall be bound--not you?"
"Father--I will not play such a farce!" She turned away with loathing.
"If you are in earnest--there will be no farce, _ma chère_! It will rest entirely with you whether you regard yourself as married or not. In the former case you will have the pleasant consciousness of a moral act without its troublesome consequences--can go on a journey after the pseudo wedding, roam through foreign lands with a reliable maid, and then return perhaps with one or two 'adopted' children, whom, as a philanthropist, you will educate and no one can discover anything. The anonymous husband may be installed by the Countess Wildenau under some title on one of her distant estates, and the marriage will be as happy as any--only less prosaic! But you will thus spare yourself an endless scandal in the eyes of society, keep your pastoral dream, and yet remain the wealthy and powerful Countess Wildenau. Is not that more sensible than in Heaven knows what rhapsody to sacrifice honor, position, wealth, and--your old father?"