“And when did this occur? Tell me everything,” cried he, impatiently.
“You shall know all, dearest Frank. Yoo have heard how Lady Hester Onslow carried me away with her to Italy. Nelly has told you how we were living in Florence,—in what splendor and festivity; our palace frequented by all the great and distinguished of every country,—French and German, and Spanish and Russian.”
“I hate the Russians; but go on,” said the boy, hastily.
“But why hate the Russians, Frank?” asked she, reddening as she spoke.
“They are false-hearted and treacherous. See how they have driven the Circassians into a war, to massacre them; look how they are goading on the Poles to insurrection. Ay, they say that they have emissaries at this moment in Hungary on the same errand. I detest them.”
“This may be their state policy, Frank; but individually——”
“They are no better; Walstein knows them well.”
“And who is Walstein, Frank?”
“The finest fellow in the service; the one I would have wished you married to, Kate, above all the world. Think of a colonel of hussars at eight-and-twenty, so handsome, so brave, and such a rider. You shall see him, Kate!”
“But it's too late, Frank,” said she, laughing; “You forget it's too late!”