"You will last two months. Can't I post to Mittau and back in two months?"
"God knows."
I looked at him drooping forward in the saddle, and said:
"If you need me I will stay, and think no more about seeing those of my own blood."
"I do need you; but you shall not stay. You shall go to Mittau in my own post-carriage. It will bring you back sooner."
But his post-carriage I could not accept. The venture to Mittau, its wear and tear and waste, were my own; and I promised to return with all speed. I could have undertaken the road afoot, driven by the necessity I felt.
"The Duchess of Angoulême is a good girl," said the marquis, following the line of my thoughts. "She has devoted herself to her uncle and her husband. When the late czar withdrew his pension, and turned the whole mimic court out of Mittau, she went with her uncle, and even waded the snow with him when they fell into straits. Diamonds given to her by her grandmother, the Empress Maria Theresa, she sold for his support. But the new czar reinstated them; and though they live less pretentiously at Mittau in these days, they still have their priest and almoner, the Duke of Guiche, and other courtiers hanging upon them. My boy, can you make a court bow and walk backwards? You must practice before going into Russia."
"Wouldn't it be better," I said, "for those who know how, to practice the accomplishment before me?"
"Imagine the Count of Provence stepping down from playing royalty to do that!" my friend laughed.
"I don't know why he shouldn't, since he knows I am alive. He has sent money every year for my support."