This time she had left suddenly, without asking permission, and after a hasty kiss on the brow of the sleeping Ladislas; for she was almost mad with disgust and shame. The King’s debauchery was becoming more notorious every day; he now had establishments and families in all the towns of Bohemia, at all his hunting-resorts. It was food for derision everywhere, and satirical verses were sung in the streets of Prague, asking what was to become of this illegitimate race, and if Ottokar, like Augustus the Strong in his day, would not form a squadron of Life Guards from his bastards. To meet the expense of such a warren, the King was turning everything into money, was exhausting and burdening the state. The trade in decorations was particularly scandalous, and a case was quoted of a tailor in Vienna who had made a fortune by selling connoisseurs of foreign crosses, for five hundred florins, black coats, in the pocket and button-hole of which the purchaser found the diploma and ribbon of Bohemia’s most illustrious order, a military order that dates back to the Thirty Years’ War.
But what is the matter? For the last minute the train has been slowing down; it stops. What is the meaning of this halt in the open country, at dead of night? The general and the baroness have waked up, much alarmed; and the gentleman in waiting, having let down the window, leans out into the darkness, and, see, the guard’s lamp, who was running alongside the carriages in the snow, stops, is raised, and all at once illumines the general’s long, white, bristling moustache and his otter cap.
“What’s the matter? What’s the reason of this stoppage?” asks old Horschowitz.
“The matter is, sir, that we are held up for an hour at least.... Two feet of snow! No way of getting further!... The Parisians will have to do without their coffee to-morrow.”
“What? An hour to wait here, in this weather!... You know that the foot-warmers are cold....”
“What can we do, sir?... They have just telegraphed to Tonnerre for a gang to clear the line.... But, I repeat, we’re here for an hour at least.”
And the man goes off with his lamp toward the engine.
“But this is abominable! Your Majesty will catch cold!” chirps the baroness.
“Yes, I do feel cold,” says the Queen, with a shiver.