“Well, tell me, Governor of Throndhjem, does that make it any less beautiful? If Levin concealed his virtues, is that a reason for denying them? Oh, how much alike men are! How dare you compare the noble Levin with them,—he who, when he could not save a soldier convicted of an attempt to murder him, settled a pension upon his murderer’s widow?”
“Pooh! who would not do as much?”
Here Schumacker exploded. “Who? You! I! Any other man, Sir Governor! Because you wear the showy uniform of a general, and stars and crosses on your breast, do you think yourself a very meritorious person? You are a general, and poor Levin, I dare say, died a captain. True, he was a foolish fellow, and never thought of promotion.”
“If he did not think of it himself, the king in his goodness thought of it for him.”
“Goodness? Say, rather, justice, if there be such a thing as the justice of a king! Well, what signal reward did he receive?”
“His Majesty paid Levin de Knud far beyond his deserts.”
“Capital!” cried the aged minister, clapping his hands. “A faithful captain is perhaps, after thirty years’ service, made a major; and this distinguished mark of favor offends you, noble general? The Persian proverb is true which says that the setting sun is jealous of the rising moon.”
Schumacker’s fury was so great that the general could scarcely get in the words: “If you persist in interrupting me—You will not let me explain—”
“No, no!” continued the other; “I thought at first sight, General, that I caught a certain likeness between you and my good Levin; but no! there is none.”
“Do but listen to me—”