“And you pretend not to understand slang!”
“I am sorry. I have heard my English cousins speak of him so much, and they told me it was considered quite wrong in England to call him anything else. Then what is the word?”
“Adore, I should think. Or I know a girl, an American”—Usk’s face clouded again as he thought of Félicia—“who would say she enthused over him.”
“Enthused? That is a good word. Well, then, I enthused over Count Mortimer. I found a portrait of him in an illustrated paper—one of my English cousins was staying with us, and her lady had brought it—and I cut it out, and had it framed. I put it up in my room, and made a wreath of green leaves for it on the dear Count’s birthday, and no one was allowed to dust it but myself. Mamma laughed at me, but when the trouble came, and your uncle left Thracia, you know, she told me I had better take it down, lest papa should see it and be angry. So I took it down, and laid it in a drawer, and looked at it every day; but when the Count married Aunt Ernestine, I thought papa could not mind, and I put it up again. But when he saw it he was—oh, I cannot tell you how angry! and he broke the glass and tore up the portrait. But do you know what I shall do now? I shall ask Aunt Ernestine to give me a photograph of him and write my name on it herself. Papa couldn’t tear that up, could he?”
“Far be it from me to say what papa couldn’t or wouldn’t do!” returned Usk, almost helpless with laughter, as they mounted the steps of the Hôtel des Rois. The girl turned to look at him reproachfully, so that Usk saw before she did an elderly gentleman, in a high state of excitement, standing in the middle of the hall, and apparently giving orders to the whole staff of the hotel in an imperious style, which contrasted ludicrously with his peasant dress and the mask which was pushed up on his forehead.
“Communicate with the police instantly!” he was saying, with a strong German accent. “They could do nothing, you say? But I insist upon it. What! is my daughter to be torn from my side and kidnapped with impunity?”
“I am here, dear papa,” said the Princess Helene meekly. “I lost my way, and this—this kind English gentleman brought me home.”
Still spluttering and choking, the Grand-Duke turned round, and glared at his daughter as if he was angry with her for being brought back. Then he turned again to wave his hand majestically, and when the waiters had fled, allowed his gaze to rest upon Usk, who became once more painfully conscious of his attire. “I am obliged to you, sir,” said the Grand-Duke coldly.
“Papa,” whispered his daughter, anxious to improve matters, “it is Aunt Ernestine’s nephew.” She shrank from the look she received as if from a blow.
“You are the nephew of Count Mortimer, sir, I understand? The Count is a worthy man, and at one time did good service to my house. I am glad you follow in his footsteps.” And the Grand-Duke led his daughter away.