“Possibly she may already have married an Englishman.”
“I trust not,” said the prince, seriously; “that might at present be a serious obstacle to her father’s return.”
“You think so?”
“There can be no doubt of it,” interposed the attache, with a grand and positive air; “unless, indeed, the Englishman were of a rank equal to her own.”
Here there was a slight, well-bred murmur and buzz at the door, for the Count di Peschiera himself was announced; and as he entered, his presence was so striking, and his beauty so dazzling, that whatever there might be to the prejudice of his character, it seemed instantly effaced or forgotten in that irresistible admiration which it is the prerogative of personal attributes alone to create.
The prince, with a slight curve of his lip at the groups that collected round the count, turned to Randal, and said, “Can you tell me if a distinguished countryman of yours is in England, Lord L’Estrange?”
“No, Prince, he is not. You know him?”
“Well.”
“He is acquainted with the count’s kinsman; and perhaps from him you have learned to think so highly of that kinsman?”
The prince bowed, and answered as he moved away, “When one man of high honour vouches for another, he commands the belief of all.”