'So they say, my lord, but I do not trouble myself about these things. A man of my age is forced to consecrate his best energies to his digestion.'
The Duke had decided upon returning to Révonde during the forenoon, but most of the guests were to remain for the projected boar-hunt. The hunting-party had already started when Blivinski and Counsellor drove out of the Castle courtyard on their way to the nearest railway station, which lay under the mountains some miles away.
The tsa had blown the snow into heavy drifts, leaving the roads and other exposed places bare and almost clean-swept. Near the station they passed a squadron of the Guard sent by Wallenloup to escort the Duke back to the capital.
The pair in the carriage talked little, but when the jingling of accoutrements had died away Blivinski said in an emotionless tone:
'You met with Count Sagan last night then—in your dreams?'
'Yes, or Duke Gustave would have been over the border by this morning.'
'Ah!'
'And history goes to prove that reigning sovereigns are fragile ware—they cannot be borrowed without danger.'
'You allude to Bulgaria?' Blivinski asked promptly, with an air of genial interest.
'Why, for the sake of argument, Alexander can stand as a case in point.'