"Guter Moltke, gehst so stumm?
Immer um das Ding herum:
Bester Moltke, sei nicht dumm,
Mach' doch endlich: Bumm, bumm, bumm!"
And he tore up the rude verses in indignation and threw them into the waste-paper basket of the Prussian Great Headquarters at the Palais de Justice, on the right of the Prefecture, and strode downstairs, too much out of tune to hum.
To have been called slow and stupid, and affectionately urged to hurry up and make an end of things with bang, bang, banging!... He was almost glad that his departed Mary was not alive to know of the humiliation inflicted by these scurrilous rhymesters on her beloved old man.
It was an unfortunate moment chosen by a new junior assistant aide-de-camp upon the Chieftain's personal staff, for tendering a request for leave of absence until the following day.
"What, what?... You have barely entered upon your new and important duties, the wine in which your comrades of the Guard pledged you is still bubbling in your veins.... Is it another congratulatory banquet, or a supper tête-à-tête ... Am I right?" The Warlock's keen glance glittered between his lashless eyelids at the tall, fair-headed young officer standing rigidly before him. "Prut! that reminds me!..." he added. "In whose company did I see you lunching only yesterday at one of the little round tables in the ante-chamber of the dining salle at the Hôtel des Réservoirs?"
Said Valverden, his blue eyes meeting the sharp gray glance with a charming candor:
"Excellency, the lady is the recently married wife of a Roumanian noble. Her name, if Your Excellency desires to know it, is Madame de Straz."
Said the Field Marshal with an acute look and a dry intonation:
"In Berlin, not so long ago, she called herself something else!"
Valverden answered, with a conscious side glance at the twist of silver braid that marked his rank of Captain: