Hatzfeldt said mentally:
"Ah, the devil! wouldn't you—and with a vengeance!"
The Chancellor went on, deep lines of anger and vexation digging themselves into his gloomy face:
"Never were two men more reluctant to reap the fruits of a great victory than our Most Gracious and his Heir Apparent—who in this matter, as in some others, needs a candle to light up his head!..."
His face took on a sullen cast. He stamped his foot upon the ground, and bayed out like some deep-mouthed bloodhound:
"If they have no ambition of their own—these Hohenzollerns—do not they owe something to mine?"
He ended, breaking into his great laugh, evoked by something in the expression of his Secretary:
"Here am I—applying to you for sympathy, who are just as petticoat-ridden by your Countess as the King and Prince Fritz by their respective better halves. Have you not your mother-in-law and your millionaire papa-in-law shut up there in the Rue de Helder—to say nothing of your wife's pet pair of pony cobs?"
Hatzfeldt returned, shrugging ruefully:
"I had another letter from my wife about the cobs this morning. Heaven knows whether they are still alive!"