"Certainly; in attendance on my General—General Stenovics. My lodgings are near here, his house at the other end of the boulevard, so he gave me leave to meet him here. I thought I would come early and fortify myself a little for the ordeal. To mademoiselle's good health!" He looked at her with openly admiring eyes, to which tribute Sophy accorded a lazy, unembarrassed smile. She leaned her chin on her hand, turning her right cheek towards him. Sophy was never disdainful, never neglectful; her pose now was good.
"What sort of a man is the King?" she asked.
"The King is most emphatically a very good sort of fellow—a very good old fellow. I only wish his son was like him! The Prince is a Tartar. Has he gone by yet?"
"I don't think so. I suppose he'd have an escort, wouldn't he? I don't know him by sight yet. Does everybody call the King a good fellow?"
"Some people are so extremely righteous!" pleaded Markart, ruefully. "And, anyhow, he has reformed now."
"Because he's old?"
"Fifty-nine! Is that so very old? No; I rather attribute it—you're discreet, I hope? I'm putting my fortunes in your hands—to Madame la Comtesse."
"The Countess Ellenburg? Marie has told me something about her."
"Ah! Madame Zerkovitch is a friend of hers?"
"Not intimate, I think. And is the Countess oppressively respectable, Captain Markart?"