“My name,” answered the other carelessly. “Oh! my name is Max Brunner.”
CHAPTER VII. THE WAY OF LOVE.
Celui qui souffle le feu s'expose a etre brule par les
etincelles.
It was said that Colonel de Casimir—that guest whose presence and uniform lent an air of distinction to the quiet wedding in the Frauengasse—was a Pole from Cracow. Men also whispered that he was in the confidence of the Emperor. But this must only have been a manner of speaking. For no man was ever admitted fully into the thoughts of that superhuman mind.
De Casimir was left behind in Dantzig when the army moved forward.
“There will be a great battle,” he said, “somewhere near Vilna—and I shall miss it.”
Indeed, every man was striving to get to the front. He who, himself, had given a new meaning to human ambition seemed able to inspire not only Frenchmen but soldiers of every nationality with fire from his own consuming flame.
“Yes! madame,” said de Casimir; for it was to Desiree that he spoke, “and your husband is more fortunate than I. He is sure of a staff appointment. He will be among the first. It will soon be over. To-morrow war is to be declared.”
They were in the street—not far from the Frauengasse, whence Desiree, always practical, was hurrying towards the market-place. De Casimir had seemed idle until he perceived her.