'Witch!' he said,
'there is not your match for devilry in Europe. Service! the thing
runs on wheels.'
'Kiss me, then, and let me go. I must not miss my Featherhead,' she
said.
'Stay, stay,' said the Baron; 'not so fast. I wish, upon my soul,
that I could trust you; but you are, out and in, so whimsical a
devil that I dare not. Hang it, Anna, no; it's not possible!'
'You doubt me, Heinrich?' she cried.
'Doubt is not the word,' said he. 'I know you. Once you were clear
of me with that paper in your pocket, who knows what you would do
with it? - not you, at least - nor I. You see,' he added, shaking
his head paternally upon the Countess, 'you are as vicious as a
monkey.'
'I swear to you,' she cried, 'by my salvation . . . '
'I have no curiosity to hear you swearing,' said the Baron.
'You think that I have no religion? You suppose me destitute of
honour. Well,' she said, 'see here: I will not argue, but I tell
you once for all: leave me this order, and the Prince shall be
arrested - take it from me, and, as certain as I speak, I will upset
the coach. Trust me, or fear me: take your choice.' And she
offered him the paper.
The Baron, in a great contention of mind, stood irresolute, weighing
the two dangers. Once his hand advanced, then dropped. 'Well,' he
said, 'since trust is what you call it . . .'
'No more,' she interrupted, 'Do not spoil your attitude.
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