'Don't be too sure of that! There may come a day when your public and your private honour will stand face to face, hopelessly irreconcilable. What then?'
'When anything so extremely awkward comes to pass, I suppose I shall have to make up my mind on the subject,' replied Rallywood with a lazy yawn, 'in the meantime it is to much trouble. Just at present my part is simple, and I look for the game to turn in our favor.'
Counsellor stood still, as if in consideration, for a minute.
'The stake may seem to be a small one—just this useless scrap of country,' he said at length, 'but the issues are far-reaching, and therefore all Europe is taking a hand in the game. How will it end? I don't know! The Fates shuffle and men handle the cards, but God cuts! Thirty years' experience has taught me that. I didn't believe it once—I do now.'
CHAPTER VIII.
A QUESTION OF THE GUARD.
The really great strategist is not the man who loves an intricate plot. His method is simple, he eliminates.
On a certain cold morning, when the sun shone pinkly through a sea-haze over the glittering roofs of Révonde, a review of the Guard, and of a few regiments that happened to be stationed within a short distance of the capital, was to be held, in honour of the Duke's birthday, on the spacious parade ground of the Guard, which occupied the whole of a small plateau lying high between the beetling hills behind the barracks.
Baron von Elmur paid an early visit to the Chancellor on his way to the review, and found M. Selpdorf, though brisk and urbane as ever, a little difficult.