“What, is old Auersberg a relative of hers?”
“An uncle, or a grand-uncle,—I forget which, sir.”
“Then that wild youth in the Franz Carl must be a connection too?”
“The cadet is her brother, sir.”
“Indeed! What an extravagant fellow it is! They say that, counting on being Auersberg's heir, he spends money in every possible fashion; and as the tradespeople take the succession on trust, his debts are already considerable. It was only yesterday his colonel spoke to me of sending him to the Banat, or some such place. His family must be rich, I suppose?”
“I believe quite the reverse, sir. Poor to indigence. Their entire hope is on the Count von Auersberg.”
“He held a frontier command for many years, and must have saved money. But will he like to see it in hands like these?”
“I believe—at least so the story goes,” said D'Esmonde, dropping his voice to a whisper, “that the boy's arguments have scarcely assisted his object in that respect. They say that he told the Count that in times like these no man's fortune was worth a year's purchase; that when monarchs were tottering and thrones rocking, it were better to spend one's means freely than to tempt pillage by hoarding it.”
“Are these his notions?” cried the Archduke, in amazement
“Yes; the wildest doctrines of Socialism are his creed,—opinions, I grieve to say, more widely spread than any one supposes.”