“I trust her Royal Highness is none the worse for the fright,” Maurice replied. He also remarked (mentally) that he did not see her Highness anywhere. Several introductions followed, and he found himself chatting with the British minister.
“Carewe?” the Englishman repeated thoughtfully. “Are you not Maurice Carewe, of the American Legation in Vienna?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you a few questions?”
“A thousand.”
“A fellow-countryman of mine has mysteriously disappeared. He left Vienna for Bleiberg, saying that if nothing was heard of him within a week's time, to make inquiries about him. This request was left with the British ambassador, who has just written me, adding that a personal friend of the gentleman in question was in Bleiberg, and that this friend was Maurice Carewe, attache to the American Legation. Are you acquainted with Lord Fitzgerald, son of my late predecessor?”
“I am indeed. I saw him in Vienna,” said Maurice; “but he said nothing to me about coming here,” which was true enough. “Is there any cause for apprehension?”
“Only his request to be looked up within a certain time. The truth is, he was to have come here on a peculiar errand,” with lowered voice. “Did you ever hear of what is called 'Fitzgerald's folly?'”
“Yes; few haven't heard of it.” Maurice could never understand why he resisted the impulse to tell the whole affair. A dozen words to the man at his side, and the catastrophes, even embryonic, would be averted. “You must tell me who most of these people are,” he said, in order to get around a disagreeable subject. “I am a total stranger.”
“With pleasure. That tall, angular old man, in the long, gray frock, with decorations, is Marshal Kampf. You must meet him; he is the wittiest man in Bleiberg. The gentleman with the red beard is Mollendorf of the police. And beside him—yes, the little man with glasses and a loose cravat—is Count von Wallenstein, the minister of finance. That is the chancellor talking to the archbishop. Ah, Mr. Carewe, these receptions are fine comedies. The Marshal, the count and Mollendorf represent what is called the Auersperg faction under the rose. It is a continual battle of eyes and tongues. One smiles at his enemy, knows him to be an enemy, yet dares not touch him.