“Ay, let us name the day,” cried several together.
“When he is named an officer,” said Walstein, “that will be time enough.”
“Nay, nay the day month after he arrives at Vienna,” cried the Bohemian. “I have given three breakfasts and five suppers on the occasion of my promotion, and the promotion has never come yet.”
“The day month after I arrive, then, be it,” said Dalton. “We meet at where is it?”
“The 'Schwan,' lad, the first restaurant of Europe. Let men talk as they will of the Cadran Bleu and the Trois Freres, I'd back Hetziuger's cook against the world; and as for wine, he has Steinkammer at thirty florins the flask! And we'll drink it, too, eh, Dalton? and we'll give a 'Hoch Lebe' to that old grandfather or grand-uncle of thine. We'll add ten years to his life.”
“A poor service to Dalton,” said another; “but here comes Walstein's horses, and now for the last glass together before we part.”
The parting seemed, indeed, to be “sweet sorrow,” for each leave-taking led to one flask more, friendship itself appearing to make wondrous progress as the bottle went round. The third call of the postilion's bugle a summons that even German loyalty could scarcely have courage to resist at last cut short the festivities, and Frank once more found himself in the caleche, where at least a dozen hands contested for the last shake of his, and a shower of good wishes mingled with the sounds of the crashing wheels.
“Glorious fellows!” cried Dalton, in an ecstasy of delight; “such comrades are like brothers.”
Walstein smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, and lighted his meerschaum in silence; and thus they journeyed, each too full of his own thoughts to care for converse. It was not at such a moment that Dalton could give way to dark or serious reflections; the blandishments and caresses of his new friends were too powerful to admit of any rivalry in his mind; and even when he did revert to thoughts of home, it was to picture to himself his father's pride at seeing him in the society of these high-born youths; of Kate's delight at the degree of notice he attracted; and even Nelly poor Nelly! he fancied yielding a gentle, half-reluctant assent to a companionship which, if costly and expensive, was sure to be honorable and high-minded.
“What would Hanserl say, too,” thought he, “if he saw me seated at the table with those whose high-sounding names are the pride of Austrian chivalry, the Thuns, the Lichtensteins, the Schwartenschilds, and the Walsteins, families old as the Hapsburgs themselves? Little Hanserl, to whom these glorious families were the great lights of history, oh, if he could have set eyes on me this last evening! when, with arms around my neck, they called me comrade!” From this he wandered on to thoughts of his uncle, investing the old field-marshal with every noble and soldierlike attribute, and, above all, fancying him as overflowing with affection and kindness. What hosts of questions did he ask about his father and his sisters; how often had he to repeat their names and paint their resemblances, going over the most minute details of family history, and recounting the simplest incidents of their daily life, for “Uncle Stephen would know all.”