“A little! but for you, my princess, I’d go back to America and leave the way clear for Lotzen.”
She laughed softly. “No, no, Armand, you would do nothing of the sort. A Dalberg never ran from duty—and least of all the Dalberg whom God has made in the image of the greatest of them all.”
He glanced in the tall mirror across the room. He was wearing the dress uniform of the Red Huzzars (who had been inspected immediately before the Foot Guards; and he, as titular Colonel, had led them in the march by), and there was no denying he made a handsome figure, in the brilliant tunic and black, fur-bound dohlman, his Orders sparkling, his sword across his knees.
She put her head close beside his and smiled at him in the mirror.
“Henry the Great was not at all bad looking,” she said.
He smiled back at her. “But with a beastly bad temper, at times, I’m told.”
“I’m not afraid—I mean his wife wasn’t afraid; tradition is, she managed him very skilfully.”
“Doubtless,” he agreed; “any clever woman can manage a man if she take the trouble to try.”
“And shall I try, Armand?”
“Try!” he chuckled; “you couldn’t help trying; man taming is your natural avocation. By all means, manage me—only, don’t let me know it.”