“This was something of a difficult undertaking, too,” said he, with an equivocal smile.
“It was certainly a pleasant and proud one, sir, as it always must be, to write to a mother in commendation of her son. By the way, Chevalier, you have forgotten to make your compliments to the Count on his promotion—”
“I have not heard of it, madam; what may it be?” asked Stubber.
“To the command of the Pahlen Hussars, sir,—one of the proudest 'charges' of the Empire.”
A rush of blood to Wahnsdorf's face was as quickly followed by a deadly pallor, and with a broken, faint utterance he said, “Good-bye,” and left the room.
“A fine young fellow,—the very picture of a soldier,” exclaimed Stubber, looking after him.
“A chevalier of the olden time, sir,—the very soul of honor,” said the Princess, enthusiastically. “And now for a little gossip with yourself.”
It is not “in our brief” to record what passed in that chatty interview; plenty of state secrets and state gossip there was,—abundance of that dangerous trifling which mixes up the passions of society with the great game of politics, and makes statecraft feel the impress of men's whims and caprices. We were just beginning that era, “the policy of resentments,” which has since pervaded Europe, and the Chevalier and the Princess were sufficiently behind the scenes to have many things to communicate; and here we must leave them while we hasten on to other scenes and other actors.