“I think the Princess of Marosin worthy of the attentions of any King on earth,” said the Baron, emphatically; “she is worthy of a throne, if beauty, intelligence, and dignity of mind, can make her worthy of one.”
The Prince stared. “My dear Colonel!” he exclaimed, “may I half presume you have been speculating on the lady yourself? But I can assure you it is in vain. The Princess is a woman; and allowing, as I do,”—and this he said with a Parisian bow, that bow which is the very language of superiority,—“the infinite pre-eminence of the Baron von Herbert in everything, the circumstance of her being a woman, and my being a Prince, is prodigiously in my favour.”
The Baron had involuntarily laid his hand upon his sword at the commencement of this speech, but the conclusion disarmed him. He had no right to quarrel with any man for his own good opinion, and he amused himself by contemplating the Prince, who continued arranging his mustaches. The sound of a trumpet put an end to the conference.
“Well, Prince, the trumpet sounds for parade,” said the Baron, “and I have not time to discuss so extensive a subject as your perfections. But take my parting information with you. I am not in love with the lady, nor the lady with me; her one-and-twenty, and my one-and-fifty, are sufficient reasons on both sides. You are not in love with the lady either, and—I beg of you to hear the news like a hero—the lady is not in love with you; for the plain reason, that so showy a figure cannot possibly be in love with anything but itself; and the Princess is, I will venture to say, too proud to share a heart with a bottle of lavender water, a looking-glass, and a poodle.”
The Prince raised his eyebrows, but Von Herbert proceeded. “Buntzlau will be without a female sovereign, and its very accomplished Prince will remain, to the last, the best dressed bachelor in Vienna. Au revoir, I see my Pandours on parade.”
Von Herbert and the Prince parted with mutual smiles. But the Prince’s were of the sardonic order; and after another contemplation of his features, which seemed, unaccountably, to be determined to disappoint him for the day, he rang for Collini, examined a new packet of uniforms, bijouterie, and otto of roses, from Paris, and was closeted with him for two profound hours.
A forest untouched since the flood overhung the road, and a half-ruined huge dwelling.
“Have the patrol passed?”
“Within the last five minutes.”