“Yes, sir; at least for the moment I am.”
“What countryman are you?”
“I am a Swiss, sir.”
“A worthy and respectable people. From what part of Switzerland do you come?”
“From the little town of Merges.”
“Not far, then, from Lausanne, and the lonely lake of Geneva, not far from Ferney, where the great Voltaire resides, and from whence he darts his scorching, lightning-flashes to-day upon those whom he blessed yesterday. Are you satisfied with your government? Are not your patrician families a little too proud? Are not even the citizens of Berne arrogant and imperious?”
“We have to complain of them, sir, but very rarely.”
“Are you now residing in Holland?”
“No, I am travelling,” answered the stranger, shortly. He had held for a long time a piece of pie on his fork, trying in vain to put it in his mouth.
The king had not observed this; he had forgotten that kings and princes only have the right to carry on a conversation wholly with questions, and that it did not become Mr. Zoller to be so inquisitive.