The Irishman laughed joyously.
“And may we have to, sir!” he cried; “may we have to!”—and made as though he were sending home a finishing thrust.
The Archduke shook his head. “There can’t be any doubt of it; you would have a most dangerous influence over me; it is well you’re with the Regent. But for this afternoon, I suggest that you select your favorite sword, and see that it doesn’t drag in the scabbard—and half-after-two at the Titian gate.”
Moore paused at the door.
“Of course,” said he, “Your Highness will wear the steel vest.”
“I’ll wear it,” was the answer; and the Colonel went out, wondering at the ready acquiescence, where he had anticipated a curt refusal. Before he had crossed the ante-room, the Archduke called him.
“I saw you were surprised,” said he. “I had a little adventure the other night that you don’t know about. Sit down a minute, and I’ll tell you of Bernheim’s and my visit to the De Saure house at two in the morning.”...
“I always said Bernheim was the man for a close pinch,” Moore remarked, at the end, “but he is even better than I imagined. The chest is simply delicious.” He paused, in sudden thought. “And, now, I reckon I understand why Count Bigler has his ear done up in surgeon’s plaster. I noticed it at the Club yesterday, and heard him explain it as a ‘sore.’ To-morrow, I’ll ask him if he caught the ‘sore’ in the De Saure house.”
“And don’t tell Bernheim,” said Armand; “if he knows he had such a good chance at Bigler, and then missed him, it will make him miserable for days.”
“Days! It will sour him for life. Next to the Duke of Lotzen, the Colonel hates Bigler most.”