Mademoiselle Ottilie took up the miniature in her turn, and, after gravely comparing it with her own elfish, sunburnt visage in the glass, gazed at her mistress; then, heaving a lugubrious sigh, she assented to my remarks, adding, however, that there was no ground for surprise, as the Princess Marie Ottilie was actually cousin to her Royal Highness the Dauphine.
The Princess blushed again, and lifted up her hand as if to warn her companion. But the latter, with her almost uncanny perspicacity, continued, turning to me:
“Of course, M. de Jennico” (she had at last mastered my name)—“of course, M. de Jennico has found out all about us by this time, and is perfectly aware of her Highness’s identity.”
Then she added, and her eyes danced:
“Since M. de Jennico is so fond of genealogy” (among the curiosities of the place I had naturally shown them my uncle’s monumental pedigree), “he can amuse himself in tracing the connection and relationships—no doubt he has the ’Almanach de Gotha’—between the houses of Hapsburg and the Catholic house of Lausitz-Rothenburg.”
And indeed, although she meant this in sarcasm, when, after I had escorted them home, I returned, through the mists and shades of twilight, to my solitude (now peopled for me with delightful present, and God knows what fantastic future, visions), I did produce that excellent new book, the “Almanach de Gotha,” and found great interest in tracing the blood-relation between the Dauphine and the fairest of princesses. And afterwards, moved by some spirit of vainglory, I amused myself by comparing on the map the relative sizes of the Duchy of Lausitz and the lands of Tollendhal.
And next I was moved to unroll once again my uncle’s pedigree, and to study the fine chain of noble links of which I stand the last worthy Jennico, when something that had been lying unformed in my mind during these last hours of strange excitement suddenly took audacious and definite shape.