"Went to bed with an attack of the heart, and got up refreshed and happy," he said.
"I see Franz Ferdinand's reputation at home is of the value of nothing, but, still, he treated you like a white man," interpreted the War Lord.
"Majesty hit the nail upon the head, as usual. Not an Austrian, Hungarian, Croatian, Servian, Bosniak or Pollack alive would not gladly spend his last heller to buy a dose of prussic acid for the heir to the throne, but to Your Majesty's representative he was all charm. Nearly gave me a horse."
"Forgot to send it to the station with the other baggage, eh? Well, aside from cheating my field marshal, how is he going on?"
"Like a steam-roller. The next time Your Majesty will deign to inspect the Sixth Infantry or the Wilhelm Hussars, Majesty will not recognise them. Fellows like me are being relegated to the scrap-heap by the dozen, and he cares no more for archdukes' privileges than the white souls of valets de chambre. His iron broom is busy with horse, foot and artillery, with the navy and the air fleet all at the same time, and wherever he touches there is a clean sweep and a howl of dismay, pitiful enough to move a tiger, but not Nero."
"He is stirring them up," rejoiced the War Lord.
"He is making the Austrian army a worthy adjunct of Your Majesty's forces," said Haeseler, very earnestly.
"And you taught him these new stratagems?"
"I would never have been allowed to leave the country alive if the Hungarians knew what I did teach Nero."
"Dirty trick," said the War Lord, "not to give Gottlieb the horse." Then imperiously: "I expect your detailed report about all the reforms in the Austrian army and navy in a fortnight."