“Not I. Some old pedant in spectacles.”
“I think not, I am sure not. Here beats a heart I have ever sighed to find, and never found.”
“Oh, la naive enfant!” cried the count; “comme son imagination s’egare en reves enchantes. And to think that while you talk like an Arcadian, you are dressed like a princess.”
“Ah, I forgot—the Austrian ambassador’s. I shall not go to-night. This book unfits me for the artificial world.”
“Just as you will, my sister. I shall go. I dislike the man, and he me; but ceremonies before men!”
“You are going to the Austrian Embassy?” said Randal. “I, too, shall be there. We shall meet.” And he took his leave.
“I like your young friend prodigiously,” said the count, yawning. “I am sure that he knows of the lost birds, and will stand to them like a pointer, if I can but make it his interest to do so. We shall see.”
CHAPTER IV.
Randal arrived at the ambassador’s before the count, and contrived to mix with the young noblemen attached to the embassy, and to whom he was known. Standing among these was a young Austrian, on his travels, of very high birth, and with an air of noble grace that suited the ideal of the old German chivalry. Randal was presented to him, and, after some talk on general topics, observed, “By the way, Prince, there is now in London a countryman of yours, with whom you are, doubtless, familiarly acquainted,—the Count di Peschiera.”