"Who is your suppliant friend?"
"Count Bartenstein, my lord."
"Bartenstein! Bartenstein back already!" exclaimed Kaunitz, exultingly.
"And he begged—he begged for an interview, you say?"
"Begged! the word is faint to express his supplications."
"Then I am not mistaken!" cried Kaunitz, with a loud, triumphant voice: "if Bartenstein begs, it is all over with him. Twice in my anteroom in one day! That is equivalent to a message from the empress." And Kaunitz, not caring to dissimulate with Binder, gave vent to his exceeding joy.
"And you will be magnanimous—you will see him, will you not?" asked
Binder, imploringly.
"What for?" asked the heartless statesman. "If he means business, the council-chamber is the place for THAT; if he comes to visit ME—'I beg to be excused.'"
"But when I beg you, for MY sake, count," persisted the good-natured baron; "the sight of fallen greatness is such a painful one! How can any one add to it a feather's weight of anguish?"
Kaunitz laid his hands upon the broad shoulders of his friend, and in his eye there kindled something like a ray of affection.
"Grown-up child, your heart is as soft as if it had never been breathed upon by the airs of this wicked world. Say no more about Bartenstein, and I will reward your interest in his misfortune by making you his successor. You shall be state referendarius yourself. Come along, you chicken-hearted statesman, and let us play a game of billiards."