Virginia grew pale. Was she too late? Or was this a concealed compliment which the chamois hunter did not guess she had the clue to find? She could not answer. The silence between the two became electrical, and the young man broke it, at last, with some slight signs of confusion.
“It’s a pity,” said he, “that our Emperor can’t hear you. He might be converted to your views.”
“Or he might clap me into prison for lèse majesté.”
“He wouldn’t do that, gna’ Fräulein—if he’s anything like me.”
“Anything like you? Why, now you put me in mind of it, he’s not unlike you—in appearance, I mean, judging by his portraits.”
“You have seen his portraits?”
“Yes, I’ve seen some. I really think you must be a little like him, only browner and taller, perhaps. Yet I’m glad that you’re a chamois hunter and not an Emperor—almost as glad as you can be.”
“Will you tell me why, lady?”
“Oh, for one reason, because I couldn’t possibly ask him, if he were here in your place, what I’m going to ask of you. You’ve very kindly laid the bread and ham ready, but you forgot to cut them.”
“A thousand pardons. Our talk has set my wits wool-gathering. My mind should have been on my manners, instead of on such far off things as Emperors and their love affairs.”