"But, I suppose, the duke befriends your son?"
"He holds the son of his friend in horror, for he is a philosopher, and he execrates them."
"The feeling is reciprocal," observed Andrea with perfect calm. "Clear away, Legay!"
Startled from her vigilant watch on the window, the maid ran back to the table.
"We used to stay at the board to two A. M. We had luxuries for supper, then, that's why! and we drank when we could eat no more. But how can one drink vinegar when there is nothing to eat? Legay, let us have the Maraschino, provided there is any."
"Liqueurs," said Andrea to the maid, who took her orders from the baron thus second-hand.
Her master sank back in his armchair and sighed with grotesque melancholy while keeping his eyes closed.
"Albeit the duke may execrate your son—quite right, too, as he is a philosopher," said Balsamo, "he ought to preserve his liking for you, who are nothing of the kind. I presume you have claims on the king, whom you must have served?"
"Fifteen years in the army. I was the marshal's aid-de-camp, and we went through the Mahon campaign together. Our friendship dates from—let me see! the famous siege of Philipsburg, 1742 to 1743."