"And what troops are with our father there?"
"I do not know, grafine," replied Bandolo; for he knew that to have mentioned Merodé and his Merodeurs might excite suspicion; "do you know, Bernhard?"
"Why, Herr Doctor," stammered the pretended valet; "I thought that you knew very well that the regiment of——"
"Carlstein—oh yes!" interrupted Bandolo just in time, but eyeing his valet savagely out of the corners of his barnacles; "how could I forget! yes, lady, the musketeers of Carlstein—none know them better than I do—occupy the fortress."
"Musketeers!" reiterated Ernestine; "our father's regiment is Cavalry!'
"To be sure—how could I forget—you blundering ass, Bernhard!—'Tis my valet who makes such mistakes; but here we are. Welcome to Wohlder, ladies!" said Bandolo, raising his hat, and with it his long white wig, a mistake by which he nearly discovered his black hair and face, by which Ernestine might have recognised the terrible familiar of Count Tilly, who had been pointed out to her on two occasions—once in Vienna, and once in the Imperial camp.
During this brief conversation, Bandolo had experienced all the uneasiness already described; and his admiration for the fine person of Ernestine combated with restraint and fear, which at times kindled a spark of rage in his heart, and made him almost hate her for possessing a power that awed him by a glance. Yet Ernestine was quite unconscious of possessing this power, and knew not that it was required.
Feeling, she knew not why, a sentiment of disdain for her conductors, she relapsed into silence, and permitted herself and Gabrielle to be led to a cottage, the poor occupants of which received them with the utmost respect. This was increased by the appearance of the leathern mails, and still more by a piece of gold, which Bandolo placed in the hand of the goodman of the cottage, requesting him to search the whole neighbourhood, and hire horses for Fredricksort, whither they were travelling on the service of the King of Denmark.
The husbonde replied, that "close by there was a farm, the goodman of which had been cruelly murdered last week by the Merodeurs in Fredricksort; and whose widow, he believed, would gladly lend the Herr her spouse's horses for a small consideration, as she and her children were starving, Count Merodé's men having made every thing march, from the haystacks in the yard to the eggs in the coop."
"Away then, boor, get these horses, and this shall be the happiest night of your life."