“What! Is Ordener Guldenlew to marry Ulrica d’Ahlefeld?”
“As you say,” replied the officer; “and it will all be settled before the fashion of French farthingales reaches Copenhagen.”
“Frederic’s son must be about twenty-two years old, for I had been in Copenhagen fortress a year when the news of his birth reached me. Let him marry young,” added Schumacker with a bitter smile. “When disgrace comes upon him, at least no one can accuse him of having aspired to a cardinal’s hat.”
The old favorite alluded to one of his own misfortunes, of which the lieutenant knew nothing.
“No, indeed,” said he, laughing heartily. “Baron Ordener will receive the title of count, the collar of the Order of the Elephant, and a colonel’s epaulettes, which would scarcely match with the cardinal’s hat.”
“So much the better,” answered Schumacker. Then after a pause he added, shaking his head as if he saw his revenge before him, “Some day they may make an iron collar of his fine order; they may break his count’s coronet over his head; they may strike him in the face with his colonel’s epaulettes.”
Ordener seized the old man’s hand.
“For the sake of your hatred, sir, do not curse an enemy’s good fortune before you know whether it be good fortune in his eyes.”
“Pooh!” said the lieutenant. “What are the old fellow’s railings to Baron Thorwick?”
“Lieutenant,” cried Ordener, “they may be more to him than you think. And,” he added, after a brief silence, “your grand marriage is not so certain as you suppose.”