“I cannot dine out to-day, McShane. I will write an excuse.”
“Well, now, I do believe you’re in for it in good earnest. My love never spoiled my appetite; on the contrary, it was my appetite that made me fall in love.”
“I wish she had not been a princess,” said O’Donahue, throwing himself on the sofa.
“That’s nothing at all here,” replied McShane. “A princess is to be had. Now, if she had been a general it would have been all up with you. Military rank is everything here, as Dimitri says.”
“She’s an angel,” replied O’Donahue, with a sigh.
“That’s rank in heaven, but goes for nothing in Petersburg,” replied McShane. “Dimitri tells me they’ve civil generals here, which I conceive are improvements on our staff, for devil a civil general I’ve had the pleasure of serving under.”
“What shall I do,” said O’Donahue, getting up and preparing to write his note to the ambassador.
“Eat your dinner, drink a bottle of champagne, and then I’ll come and talk it over with you, that’s all you can do at present. Give me the note, and I’ll send Dimitri off with it at once, and order up your dinner.”
McShane’s advice not being very bad, it was followed. O’Donahue had finished his dinner, and was sitting by the fire with McShane, when there was a knock at the door. McShane was summoned, and soon returned, saying, “There’s a little fellow that wants to speak with you, and won’t give his message. He’s a queer little body, and not so bad-looking either, with a bolster on the top of his head, and himself not higher than a pillow; a pigeon could sit upon his shoulder and peck up peas out of his shoes; he struts like a grenadier, and, by the powers! a grenadier’s cap would serve as an extinguisher for him. Shall I show him in?”
“Certainly,” replied O’Donahue.