“Ah,” he said, with satisfaction.
“The boots may not fit you,” said the Colonel, “but if they do not we will manage some way.”
“I shall not mind the fortnight,” said Maurice. “By the way, Colonel, I notice that French seems to prevail instead of German. Why is that?”
“It is the common language of politeness, and servants do not understand it. As for myself, I naturally prefer the German tongue; it is blunt and honest and lacks the finesse of the French, which is full of evasive words and meanings. However, French predominates at court. Besides, heaven help the foreigner who tries to learn all the German tongues to be found in the empires of the Hohenzollern and Hapsburg. Luncheon will be served to you in the dining hall; the first door to the right at the foot of the grand staircase. I shall send you a trooper to act as valet.”
“Spare me, Colonel,” said Maurice, who did not want any one between him and the Englishman when they were alone.
“I have never had a valet,” said Fitzgerald; “he would embarrass me.”
“As you please,” said the Colonel, a shade of disappointment in his tones. “After all, you are soldiers, where every man is for himself. Make yourselves at home;” and he withdrew.
Maurice at once applied lather and razor, and put on the handsome uniform, which fitted him snugly. The coat was tailless, with rows of silver buttons running from collar to waist. The breast and shoulders and sleeves were covered with silver lace, and Maurice concluded that it must be nothing less than a captain's uniform. The trousers were tight fitting, with broad stripes of silver; and the half boots were of patent leather. He walked backward and forward before the pier-glass.
“I say, Fitz, what do you think of it?”
“You're a handsome rascal, Maurice,” answered the Englishman, who had watched his young friend, amusement in his sober eyes. “Happily, there are no young women present.”