“Yes,” cried Bertha, “but both of those events are likely to be far in the future. I do not wish my presumptive father-in-law to die, and I know that it is long, in times of peace, before a lieutenant becomes an Admiral.”
“But these are not times of peace,” cried the Countess. “There is going to be a war. A friend of mine who is intimate at Court says that it will not be many months before France will declare war against Russia. It is something about the Crimea, but what that is I really do not know.”
“Why, that’s part of Russia,” cried Bertha. “Or perhaps the Russians wish to add it to their Empire. I remember reading about Peter the Great and how he founded the city of St. Petersburg. The book said that one hundred thousand men lost their lives from fever and other forms of disease while the city was being built.”
“Yes,” said the Countess, sharply, “these rulers are always willing to sacrifice the lives of their subjects if they can add thereby to their own power. I am a lover of peace.”
“So am I,” said Vivienne, “but are there not times when an honourable war is better than a dishonourable peace?”
The Countess did not answer the question, but said, gaily: “We are not here to discuss war, but an honourable peace. You two young ladies have capitulated, and the victors demand their booty—I should have said beauty.”
“Let it be a quiet wedding,” said Bertha, “with as few people present as possible.”
“That’s my idea, exactly,” said Vivienne.
“Well, you may have your own way so far as the marriage itself is concerned,” said the Countess. “About one part of the festivities though, I shall insist upon having my own way. After the marriage we will have a reception, and I shall claim the right to invite to that whom I please, and as many as I please.”
The wedding reception was over and the last guest had departed.