"Where is Mensdorff?" asked Count Clam Gallas, "I do not see him; he is surely not ill again?"
"He was sent for by the emperor," replied the countess; "and, though he has come back, he has something to despatch. I have had to offer his excuses; but we shall not have to wait for him much longer."
"I have heard wonders of your fête in Prague, countess," said the baron, turning to the Countess Clam Gallas, "they cannot praise it enough; Countess Waldstein, whom I met to-day, at Princess Lori Schwarzenberg's, has been quite enchanted."
"Yes, it was quite a success," said the countess, "and gave us all much pleasure. We had the idea," she continued, turning to Princess Obrenowitsch, "of performing Wallenstein's 'Camp in Prague;' of course, it has been so often performed before, there is nothing remarkable about that. The extraordinary thing was that the actors in this play, in which Schiller brings Wallenstein's army so wonderfully before us, were really direct descendants of the great leaders in the Thirty Years' War. This gave an unusual meaning, and an unusual spirit to the representation. I assure you we were all inspired by a breath from the past, both performers and audience felt the same vivid emotion. The ancient mighty spirit of Austria seemed to rise up before us, clashing its arms, and a blast from the Swedish horns would have made the whole company cry 'To horse!' and have sent them to ride forth like their ancestors."
"Yes," said Count Clam Gallas, "it made a wonderful impression on all of us--we all felt that the time will come, if it be God's will, when the Austrian sword must again be drawn, and our emperor restored to his old position. It looks to me as if the times were stormy, and we should soon ride forth."
There was a moment's pause. Herr von Reischach looked grave and was silent; when foreign policy and warlike action were spoken of, it grieved his true old soldier's heart, that he, with his hacked and shattered limbs, could no longer take a part.
Countess Mensdorff, whose fine tact always prevented political discussions in her drawing-room, broke the short silence by observing to von Reischach with a smile:
"It is a pity you were not there, Baron Reischach, you would have performed the Capuchin excellently, and preached the moral to the wicked world."
"Certainly," said he, and added in a tone of comic pathos: "Contenti estote, be satisfied with your ammunition bread."
"Yes, but if a pâté de foie gras came first, and a bottle of old Hungarian wine," laughed the count, "he would leave the ammunition bread alone."