He wore the green uniform of a General, with the Jewel of the Order of the Lion around his neck. His sixty odd years sat very lightly and left no mark save in the facial wrinkles and grey hair. He was a true Dalberg in height and general appearance, and with the strong, straight nose that was as distinctive to our family as was the beak to the Bourbons.
I had remained in the background during Courtney's greeting, but, when he turned and presented me, I advanced and bowed. As I straightened, the King extended his hand saying:
"We are glad to———"
Then he caught a full view of my face and stopped, staring. I dropped his hand and stepped back; and, for a space, no one moved. Only, I shot a side glance at Courtney and caught a half smile on his lips. Then Frederick recovered himself.
"Your pardon, sir, but I did not catch the name," he said.
Courtney's finesse saved me the embarrassment of a self-introduction.
"Major Dalberg, of the United States Army, Your Majesty," he said quickly. "The representative of our War Department with your army."
"Dalberg—Dalberg," he muttered; then added, perfunctorily: "Our army is at your service, sir, though I fear we shall be unable to give you the war."
"The army is quite enough, Sire," I began; but it was plain he did not hear me. He was studying my face again and thinking. Courtney, I could see, was having the finest sort of sport. I could have throttled him.
"You have our name, Major," said the King. "May I ask if it is a common one in America?"