GETTING EVEN WITH THE WAR LORD
The Hungarian Nero—The Episode of the Mouse
Emperor of the Slavs, King of Rome, Avenging Angel of the Schism and its Grand Lord Destroyer—Pope even—though he had misgivings as to the propriety of the latter title—what prospects for the son of the degenerate Karl Ludwig—and the War Lord footing the bill! A Protestant, true enough, but his friends, the Jesuits, held that the purpose sanctifies means, whatever their character.
How they would rejoice at the news!
But his word as an officer! Pshaw! The War Lord calling himself "all-wise," "all-seeing," etc., had been fooled for once by the simple-minded Bohemian, for Franz's left hand was on his back when parole d'honneur was demanded, and he lost no time gripping his thumb with the other fingers and pressing it hard.
Mental reservation! That little matter was settled, and in most approved style. Honi soit qui mal y pense.
A while later Franz asked to be confessed.
"Not while your soul is in the state of disgrace," pronounced Father Bauer with impressive solemnity.
Franz's bold front melted away like butter before a blast furnace. "Pray confess me, your reverence!" he cried, terror all over his face.
"After due reflection," was Bauer's niggardly consent. "Your Highness will retire to the oratory now."