“I am not a Swede; but if Poles themselves do not feel sorrow, neither do I,” answered the count.
Lisola looked at him seriously. “It is true that your name is not Swedish. From what people are you, I pray?”
“I am a Cheh” (Bohemian).
“Indeed? Then you are a subject of the German emperor? We are under the same rule.”
“I am in the service of the Most Serene King of Sweden,” said Veyhard, with a bow.
“I wish not to derogate from that service in the least,” answered Lisola, “but such employments are temporary; being then a subject of our gracious sovereign, whoever you may be, whomsoever you may serve, you cannot consider any one else as your natural sovereign.”
“I do not deny that.”
“Then I will tell you sincerely, that our lord mourns over this illustrious Commonwealth, over the fate of its noble monarch, and he cannot look with a kindly or willing eye on those of his subjects who are aiding in the final ruin of a friendly power. What have the Poles done to you, that you show them such ill will?”
“Your excellency, I might answer many things, but I fear to abuse your patience.”
“You seem to me not only a famous soldier, but a wise man. My office obliges me to observe, to listen, to seek causes; speak then, even in the most minute way, and fear not to annoy my patience. If you incline at any time to the service of the emperor, which I wish most strongly, you will find in me a friend who will explain and repeat your reasons, should any man wish to consider your present service as wrong.”