“By Jove! that is a service!” exclaimed Frank, “where a man scarcely ten years my senior may command a regiment!”
The other laughed, and after a brief pause, said, “People are in the habit of calling me fortunate, so that you must not suppose my case to be the rule.”
“Be it so: even as an exception, the example is a bright one. Another may do what you have done.”
“If you mean that I have earned my rank by services, boy,” said the Count, smiling, “you would make a grave mistake. My promotion had another source.”
Frank looked as though he were curious to hear the explanation, but the other gave none.
“How do you call yourself?” asked he of Frank, after a pause.
“Dalton,” replied the boy, more respectfully than before.
“We have a field-marshal of that name in the service, a most gallant old soldier, too.”
“My grand-uncle!” cried Frank, with enthusiasm.
“Indeed! So you are a grand-nephew to the Graf von Auersberg,” said the Count, taking a more deliberate view than he had yet bestowed upon him. “Then how comes it you are travelling in this fashion, and on foot?”