The old fellow answered with the faintest suggestion of a grin.
All Dornlitz was familiar with the features of the Great Henry, and so it was quite impossible for the Archduke Armand to escape recognition—and to-night, as he and Bernheim went out the Avenue, the people made way for him with a respect and deference that even he could not but feel was honest and sincere, and of the quietly enthusiastic sort that is most dependable.
“Does it look as though I had need for an escort?” he asked.
“Not at this moment,” the Aide agreed.
“Nor at any moment on Alta Avenue;” he put his hand on the other’s arm—“you know, Bernheim, it’s not you I object to, it’s the idea. I always like you with me.”
The Colonel’s face flushed, and for an instant he did not reply; when he did, his voice was low and faintly husky.
“Sire!” he said, “Sire!”
The Archduke glanced at him in quick surprise, and understood; sometimes Bernheim’s intense devotion overflowed.
“Brace up, Colonel,” he exclaimed, with sudden gayety, “brace up! you won’t have to milk that cow.”
Then both men laughed, and the normal situation was resumed.