“I mean, more prudent as regards ourselves, and more respectful to the Prince.”
“Respectful—to my son-in-law!—that's 'more of it.' Upon my conscience, I'll have to go to school again in my old days. I know nothing of life at all, at all! Respect, indeed!”
“I would but suggest, papa, that for Kate's sake—”
“There—there——don't provoke me. I never set my heart on a thing yet—big or little—that I was n't met with a caution about this, or a warning about that, till at last I got so tutored and corrected and trained that, as Billy Morris used to say at whist, 'I dread a good hand more than a bad one.'”
“Far be it from me, dearest father,” said Nelly, smiling, “to throw a shadow over a bright moment. If it will give you pleasure—”
“Sure I said it would,—sure I told you 't is what I 'd like. A fine dinner at the 'Schwan;' four gulden a head, without wine; a dozen of champagne in ice, hock for them that can drink it, and port and Lafitte for Peter Dalton and men of his own sentiments. There's the programme, Nelly, and you'll see if I can't fill up the details.”
“Well, but we have yet much to do; here are several letters,—here is Frank's. Let us learn how the dear fellow fares.”
Dalton sat down without speaking; there was, indeed, more of resignation than curiosity in his features, as he crossed his arms and listened.
“Dearest Nelly,——I only heard a few days ago that my last
two letters had been stopped; they were not, as they should
have been, submitted to my captain to read, and hence they
were arrested and suppressed. This goes by a private hand—a
friend of mine—a pedler from Donaueschingen—”
“A what?—a pedler is it?” broke in Dalton, angrily.