“Let me see now, what is the name of the gentleman who does me the honour?”
“Greig,” I answered. “Paul Greig.”
“Ah!” he cried, “of course: I have had friends in Monsieur's family. Charmé, Monsieur, de faire votre connaissance. M. Andrew Greig-”
“Was my uncle, your Royal Highness?”
“So! a dear fellow, but, if I remember rightly, with a fatal gift of irony. 'Tis a quality to be used with tact. I hope you have tact, M. Greig. Your good uncle once did me the honour to call me a—what was it now?—a gomeral.”
“It was very like my uncle, that, your Royal Highness,” I said. “But I know that he loved you and your cause.”
“I daresay he did, Monsieur; I daresay he did,” said the Prince, flushing, and with a show of pleasure at my speech. “I have learned of late that the fair tongue is not always the friendliest. In spite of it all I liked M. Andrew Greig. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing Monsieur Greig's nephew soon again. Au plaisir de vous revoir!” And off he went, putting the letter, unread, into his pocket.
When I went back to the Cerf d'Or and told Hamilton all that had passed, he was straightway plunged into the most unaccountable melancholy.