“The old she-dragon, the governess—I suppose she is trustworthy?”
“Perfectly. But she is a woman.”
“He has Lussin.” Count Lussin was the Crown Prince’s aide-de-camp.
“He needs a man, sire,” observed the Chancellor rather tartly.
The King cleared his throat. “This youngster he is so fond of, young Larisch, would he please you better?” he asked, with ironic deference.
“A good boy, sire. You may recall that his mother—” He stopped.
Perhaps the old King’s memory was good. Perhaps there was a change in Mettlich’s voice.
“A good boy?”
“None better, sire. He is devoted to His Royal Highness. He is still much of a lad himself. I have listened to them talking. It is a question which is the older! He is outside now.”
“Bring him in. I’ll have a look at him.”