“Then you knew that you were committing a breach of discipline in opening that letter?”
“As the letter is written in Hungarian, Herr Lieutenant, I felt that to show it to you could be but a ceremony.”
“This explanation may satisfy you, sir; it does not suffice for me. Hand me your letter.”
Ravitzky grew scarlet at the command, and for an instant he seemed as though about to dispute it; but duty overcame every personal impulse, and he gave it.
“I see my own name here,” cried Frank, as the one word legible to his eyes caught him. “How is this?”
Ravitzky grew red and pale in a second, and then stood like one balancing a difficulty in his own mind.
“I ask again, how comes a mention of me in this document?” cried Frank, angrily.
“The letter, Herr Lieutenant, is from my cousin, who, aware that I was serving in the same troop with you, offered to make me known to you.”
“And who is this cousin with whom I am so intimate?” said Frank, proudly.
“Count Ernest Walstein,” said the other, calmly.