“Is the baron going on to-morrow?” asked a gay voice in French.
“Yes, he is bound for Baden-Baden. The season is at its height, and he must make his game while the ball is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed Sigismund,” answered a rough voice.
“Won’t his father pardon the last escapade?” asked a third, with a laugh.
“No, and he is right. The duel was a bad affair, for the man almost died, and the baron barely managed to get out of the scrape through court influence. When is the wedding to be?”
“Never, Palsdorf says. There is everything but love in the bargain, and he swears he’ll not agree to it. I like that.”
“There is much nobleness in him, spite of his vagaries. He will sow his wild oats and make a grand man in time. By the by, if we are going to the fortress, we must be off. Give Sigismund the word; he is dining at the other table with Power,” said the gay voice.
“Take a look at the pretty English girl as you go by; it will do your eyes good, after the fat Frauleins we have seen of late,” added the rough one.
Three gentlemen rose, and as they passed Amy stole a glance at them; but seeing several pairs of eyes fixed on herself, she turned away blushing, with the not unpleasant consciousness that “the pretty English girl” was herself. Longing to see which Sigismund was, she ventured to look after the young men, who paused behind the man with the blond beard, and also touched the dark-eyed gentleman on the shoulder. All five went down the hall and stood talking near the door.
“Uncle, I wish to go,” said Amy, whose will was law to the amiable major. Up he rose, and Amy added, as she took his arm, “I’m seized with a longing to go to Baden-Baden and see a little gambling. You are not a wild young man, so you can be trusted there.”
“I hope so. Now you are a sensible little woman, and we’ll do our best to have a gay time. Wait an instant till I get my hat.”