'She was twenty-four years of age on Easter Day. As for happiness, when you know the Countess Wanda, you will know that she would go out as poor as S. Elizabeth, and self-dethroned like her, most willingly, could she by such a sacrifice see her brothers living around her.'
The stranger gave a little cynical laugh of utter incredulity, which dismayed and annoyed the old professor.
'You do not know her,' he said angrily.
'I know humanity,' said the other. 'Will you kindly take all my apologies and regrets to the Countess, and give her my name; the Marquis de Sabran. She can satisfy herself as to my identity at any embassy she may care to consult.'
When he said his name, the professor gave a great cry and started from his seat.
'Sabran!' he echoed. 'You edited the "Mexico"!' he exclaimed, and gazed over his spectacles in awe and sympathy commingled at the stranger, who smiled and answered——
'Long ago, yes. Have you heard of it?'
'Heard of it!' echoed Greswold. 'Do you take us for barbarians, sir?' It is here, both in my small library, which is the collection of a specialist, and in the great library of the castle, which contains a million of volumes.'
'I am twice honoured,' said the stranger, with a smile of some irony. The good professor was a little disconcerted, and his enthusiasm was damped and cooled. He felt as much embarrassment as though he had been the owner of a discredited work.
'May I not be permitted to congratulate you, sir?' he said timidly. 'To have produced that great work is to possess a title to the gratitude and esteem of all educated men.'