"Really, sir, you dispose of me in a very cavalier way."
"That's because you're too careless or lazy to look out for yourself," retorted the baron. "But then you can have no possible objection to the present match. The fair Julia is just twenty—eyes, you dog—lips, you rascal—a shape, you blockhead, to bewitch an anchorite. And then she has the gelt—the money, my boy."
"A commodity of which I happen to be minus," said the soldier.
"Arn't you my heir?" asked the baron.
"You are very kind," said the hussar, with a slight sigh.
He glanced at Adelaide, but he read no sentiment on her calm and pensive countenance.
"She's as cold as a glacier on the Donderberg!" he muttered to himself.
"Well, sir—you haven't given me an answer," said the baron, impatiently.
"My dear uncle," said the soldier, jumping up, and snatching his fowling-piece, "it's a glorious morning for sport; and I'm much mistaken if I don't add a half dozen brace of birds to your bill of fare to-day."
"But the fair Julia Von Steinberg?" said the baron.