Weisspriess coolly verified it, on the faith of a common servant's communication.
The ladies could see that some fresh piece of mystery lay between him and Wilfrid.
“With whom have you had an interview, and what have you heard?” asked Lena, vexed by Wilfrid's pallid cheeks.
Both men stammered and protested, out of conceit, and were as foolish as men are when pushed to play at mutual concealment.
The duchess's chasseur, Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz, stepped up to his mistress and whispered discreetly. She gazed straight at Laura. After hesitation she shook her head, and the chasseur retired. Amalia then came to the rescue of the unhappy military wits that were standing a cross-fire of sturdy interrogation.
“Do you not perceive what it is?” she said to Anna. “Major Weisspriess meets Private Pierson at the door of my house, and forgets that he is well-born and my guest. I may be revolutionary, but I declare that in plain clothes Private Pierson is the equal of Major Weisspriess. If bravery made men equals, who would be Herr Pierson's superior? Ire has done me the honour, at a sacrifice of his pride, I am sure, to come here and meet his sister, and rejoice me with his society. Major Weisspriess, if I understand the case correctly, you are greatly to blame.”
“I beg to assert,” Weisspriess was saying as the duchess turned her shoulder on him.
“There is really no foundation,” Wilfrid began, with similar simplicity.
“What will sharpen the wits of these soldiers!” the duchess murmured dolefully to Laura.
“But Major Weisspriess was called out of his room by a message—was that from Private Pierson?” said Anna.