“Oh, as for me,” said I, “I ask for no respite.” (Could I desire to waste a second before shaking the dust of this cursed country from my feet?) “The time but to warn my servant and bid him truss up my portmanteau and saddle the horses. I understand,” I added, with what, I fear, was a withering smile, “that you are kind enough to offer me a seat in your carriage?”
“Ah, my dear sir,” returned the little man, with an expression of relief, “what a delightful thing it is to deal with an homme d’esprit!”
And so, in scarce half-an-hour’s time, the triumphal procession was ready to set forth. I entered the coach, the Freiherr took his seat behind me, János, impassive, mounted his horse between two dragoons, whilst my own mount was led by a third soldier in the rear. And in this order we set off at a round pace for the Silesian frontier, where I begged to be deposited.
At first my good-tempered and garrulous escort tried in vain to beguile me into some conversation upon such abstract subjects as music and poetry. But his well-meant efforts failed before my hopeless taciturnity, and it was in silence that we concluded the transit between Rothenburg and the border.
As we parted, however, he held out his hand. “Sans rancune, camarade,” said he.
What could I do but clasp the good-natured little paw as heartily as I might, and echo, although most untruly, “Sans rancune”? To the very throat I was full of rancour for everything belonging to Lusatia, and I swear the bitterness of it lay a palpable taste on my tongue.
A free man again, I threw myself upon my horse, and took the straightest road for my empty home. János had the wit to speak no word to me, save a direction now and again as to the proper way. And we rode like furies through the cold, wet night.
“Breed a fine stock ...” had said my good uncle to his heir.
At least, I thought—and the sound of my laugh rang ghastly even in my own ears—if I have brought roture into the family, I am not like now to graft it on the family tree!