“Confidentially, this play has never had the like. To convict his enemies of treason has been for ten years the labor of the chancellor; yet, though he knows them to be in correspondence with the duchess, he can find nothing on the strength of which to accuse openly. It is a conspiracy which has no papers. One can not take out a man's brains and say, `Here is proof!' They talk, they walk on thin ice; but so fine is their craft that no incautious word ever falls, nor does any one go through the ice.
“I have watched the play for ten years. I should not speak to you about it, only it is one of those things known to all here. Those gentlemen talking to the chancellor's wife are the ministers from Austria, Prussia, France, and Servia. You will not find it as lively here as it is in Vienna. We meet merely to watch each other,” with a short laugh. “Good. The Marshal is approaching.”
They waited.
“Marshal,” said the minister, “this is Monsieur Carewe, who rescued her Highness's dog from the students.”
“Ah!” replied the Marshal, grimly. “Do not expect me to thank you, Monsieur; only day before yesterday the dog snapped at my legs. I am living out of pure spite, to see that dog die before I do. Peace to his ashes—the sooner the better.”
The minister turned to Maurice and laughed.
“Eh!” said the Marshal.
“I prophesied that you would speak disparagingly of the dog.”
“What a reputation!” cried the old soldier. “I dare say that you have been telling Monsieur Carewe that I am a wit. Monsieur, never attempt to be witty; they will put you down for a wit, and laugh at anything you say, even when you put yourself out to speak the truth. If I possess any wit it is like young grapes—sour. You are connected in Vienna?”
“With the American Legation.”