“A jest. If Madame the duchess conquers the Englishman, the king that is to be will pay her. Then, if she wages war Austria can say nothing for defending ourselves.”
“And Walmoden?” Stuler struck his forehead with his fist as if to pound it into a state of lucidity. “Where is he? It is a stone wall; I can see nothing.”
“Beauvais.”
“Beauvais!” Stuler half rose from his chair, but sank again.
“Exactly. This play, for some reason unexplained, is the price of his reestablishment into the graces of the noble Hapsburgs. Between us, I think the prince is playing a game for himself. But who shall blame him?”
“The devil! I thought Austria was very favorable to the Osian house.”
“Favorable or not, it is nothing to us.”
“Well, well, it's a thousand crowns,” philosophically.
“That's the sentiment,” laughed Johann. “It is not high treason, it is not lese majeste; it is not a crime; it is a thousand crowns. Votre sante, as the damned French say!” swallowing what was left of the wine. “And then, it is purely patriotic in us,” with a deceitful smile.
“The storehouse is yours, and the men. Now tell me how 'tis to be played.”