"Your portraits are drawn by a masterly hand, Dominique; they are sufficiently unattractive. And these gentlemen of the council are absolutely in the interest of the German princes?"
"Yes, entirely so. In this single case these three councillors, who detest each other cordially, undoubtedly on account of the difference of their tastes, are of one mind,—a rare thing, for generally the support of one would be sufficient to cause the opposition of the others."
"And the German princes?" . . .
"Have as much hope of gaining, as you have chances of losing; for you pass at Vienna for something worse than a demon."
"I do! . . . You are joking, Dominique!"
"I wish I were! but it is only too true. . . . Your reputation as a man of gallantry, a voluptuary, a flirt, and a sybarite, has reached even Vienna; in the eyes of these grave Germans, you are a Will'-o'-the-wisp, a sprite, a sylph,—something, in short, as brilliant as subtle, unaccountable and dangerous. Two centuries ago, they would have received you with a power of exorcisms and holy water . . . but in this philosophic and enlightened age, they will content themselves with shutting the door in your face, and saying vade retro, for they would think you are the devil himself; and unhappily your lawsuit will be definitely settled in two weeks by these three judges! . . . Ah! may Pluto . . . have them some day for their comfort!" added Dominique, by way of imprecation.
After a long silence, the Marquis rose, wrote a few words, rang his bell, and gave his letter to a servant, saying:
"Carry this to the house of Madame Rohan-Soubise; ask for Dame Martha, and wait for an answer."
"This evening I shall start for Vienna," said Létorière to his professor.
"You mean, then, to go in search of adventures, to seduce your judges? It is true that Alcibiades ate the black broth of the Spartans, made a centaur of himself in Thrace, and crowned himself with violets, while he sang voluptuous songs to the effeminate Ionians."