'One ought to be Dorat and Marmontel to be worthy of such a repast,' he said, as he seated himself between his hostesses.
'Neither Dorat nor Marmontel would have enjoyed your very terrible adventure,' said the Princess, reflecting with satisfaction that it was herself who had saved this charming and chivalrous life, since, at her own risk and loss, she had sent her physicians, alike of body and of soul, to wrestle for him with death by his sick bed at Pregratten.
'Wanda would never have sent anyone to him,' thought the Princess: 'she is so unaccountably indifferent to any human life higher than her peasantry.'
'Adventures are to the adventurous,' quoted Sabran.
'Yes,' said the Princess; 'but the pity is that the adventurous are too often the questionable——'
'Perhaps that is saying too much,' said Wanda; 'but it is certain that the more solid qualities do not often lead into a career of excitement. It has been always conceded—with a sigh—that duty is dull.'
'I think adventure is like calamity: some people are born to it,' he added,'and such cannot escape from it. Loyola may cover his head with a cowl: he cannot become obscure. Eugene may make himself an abbé: he cannot escape his horoscope cast in the House of Mars.'
'What a fatalist you are!'
'Do you think we ever escape our fate? Alexander slew all whom he suspected, but he did not for that die in his bed of old age.'
'That merely proves that crime is no buckler.'