The figure of the wearer, too, suited well this impression. There was a stern rigidity of look as he sat still and motionless in his saddle, which relaxed into the polished urbanity of an old courtier as often as the Emperor addressed him. When bowing to the mane of his charger, he seemed the very type of courtesy; while, as he retired his horse, there was all the address and ease of a practised rider.
“There, to the left of Walmoden, on the powerful black horse, do you see that handsome old man in the purple tunic?” said Waldstein.
“I have been watching him for several minutes back,” replied Frank. “What a singular uniform!”
“Yes. It was the dress of the Artillery of the Imperial Guard in the days of Wagram and Lobau; and he is permitted to retain it, by a special leave of the Emperor, a favor he only avails himself of on occasions like the present.”
“What a mass of orders he wears!”
“He has all that the Empire can bestow, from the 'Iron Cross' to the 'Maria Teresa.' He has the 'Legion of Honor,' too, sent him by Napoleon himself! It was that officer who at Elchingen rode up to the head of a French column, and told them that the wagons they were pursuing were the 'ammunition of the rear-guard!' 'If you advance,' said he, 'we 'll fire them, and blow you and ourselves to atoms!' The coolness and heroism of the daring were well acknowledged by a brave enemy. The French halted, and our train proceeded on its way. Mayhap you have heard the anecdote before?”
“Never,” said Frank, still gazing with admiration at the old soldier.
“Then I may as well tell you that he is the Count Dalton von Auersberg,” said Walstein, lying back to enjoy the youth's amazement.
“What! Uncle Stephen? Is that our uncle?” burst out Frank, in delight.
“I wish I could call him 'ours,' with all my heart,” said Walstein, laughing. “Any man might well be proud of such a relative.”