“The Secular Clergy,” read von Steyregg, and cleared his throat. “The Archbishop and Chapter. The Sacred Canopy, borne by six Noble Officers of the Garrison in Full Uniform.”...
Dunoisse, with an ashen face, rose up at the foot of the table.... It had been revealed to him as by a lightning-flash, over what a bottomless abyss he hung.... Henriette appeared to notice nothing.... von Steyregg pursued:
“In this unhappy document, Madame, I have suggested an alteration. As here provided, the Mayor and Corporation, the Garrison—in uniform of review—with the towns-people, peasants, children, and beggars were to have brought up the rear of the procession. But my amendment (forwarded in writing to the Archbishop, since that prelate has rudely closed his doors against us), is, that His Lordship and the Chapter should be followed by—grant but a moment!—I will set it down....”
He sucked a black-lead pencil, scrawled on the wide margin of the official programme, and read as he scrawled:
“His Serene Highness, Hector-Marie-Aymont, Prince-Aspirant of Widinitz, carrying a taper, and attended by the Wohlgeboren Herr Attorney-and-Oath-Commissioner Ottilus Köhler, and the Hochwohlgeboren Herr Baron, Rodobald Siegfridus Theodore von Steyregg, Knight of the Most Pious Order of Saint Emmerich.” He added, blowing like a seal, and mopping his great moist countenance with a crumpled table-napkin:
“Take the word of a Magyar nobleman, Your Serenity, that taper of yours will have cooked the Regent Luitpold’s goose for him, all being said and done!”
But His Serene Highness, who had dropped heavily back into the chair, was leaning upon his folded arms, staring with an air of deep abstraction at the polished surface of the dessert-covered mahogany, and might have heard or not.
“Dull dog that you are, my Prince!” said von Steyregg mentally, “this charming Eve of yours is worth a million of you. Were she Princess-Aspirant of this phlegmatic State, it would be a hop, skip and jump into the saddle. With you, had you not a Steyregg at your elbow—Ps’sst!—the whole adventure would fizzle off like a damp squib—I would bet my head on it! Now, what picture you are gaping at—with your eyes fixed and your jaw dropping—I would give this glass of punch to know.”
He tossed it off with a flourish and a wink at his rat-faced confederate. The flourish, the wink, were lost upon Dunoisse.