'Half German and half French—some of them are, no doubt, very pretty.'
'Nay, I hope they are wholly German now. It was in those gardens I first met my beautiful cousin, with that devil of a fellow, who, somehow, got introduced to her. Let us go then; the band of the 76th Hanoverians plays there every evening. This time to-morrow will find us at dear old Frankenburg, where, as I shall have the girl all to myself, I hope to turn the flank of this Herr Mansfeld. I am in love with my cousin—actually in love with her at last.'
'My simple comrade, of what are you talking? Is this any age of the world in which to wear your heart upon your sleeve? Is this fellow Mansfeld good-looking?'
'Rather,' said the Count, twirling the points of his moustaches, and eyeing himself complacently in the depths of a great mirror opposite; 'but I wish I had your general success, Carl.'
'In what—I took honours in nothing at dear old Rugby.'
'Indeed—not even in flirtation?'
'In that I might have had the golden medal, had golden medals been given for such excellence.'
They assumed their spike helmets and swords, which the Prussian officers wear through a perforation in the left skirt, as their belt is worn under the coat, and thus bantering each other, cigar in mouth and arm-in-arm, they proceeded laughingly towards the crowded gardens of the Prinz Carl Hotel.
Next day saw them off for Frankenburg in an open britzka. The day was a lovely one in summer, and the scenery around them grand. Charlie, of course, apostrophized the Rhine, and quoted Byron. They passed Düren and the valley of the Ruhr, with the picturesque hamlet of Riedeggen perched on its lofty rock; Merodé, the cradle of the Merodeur; industrious Stolberg, with its château crowning a hill, and the beautiful wood named the Reichswald.
Young Frankenburg was in excellent spirits, and bantered the driver, calling him schwager (brother-in-law), a singular title for post-boys, and so forth, the origin of which is unknown. He was rather too liberal to him in the matter of trinkgeld (drink money); thus the britzka was driven at a thundering rate down that basin of beautiful hills which surround Aix, while Heinrich waved his forage-cap, and sung verses from the war-song of Arndt: