All joined in the laugh which followed.
"Yes," said Wengenrode, "and the Roman procurator, Pilate, who is a porter or a messenger and so drags various loads about, carried up my luggage to-day and dropped my dressing case containing a number of breakable jars and boxes. 'Stupid blockhead!' I exclaimed, angrily. He straightened himself and looked at me with an expression which actually embarrassed me. 'My name is Thomas Rendner, sir! I beg your pardon for my awkwardness, and am ready to make your loss good, so far as my means shall allow.'"
"Now tell me, isn't that sheer hallucination of grandeur?"
Some of the gentlemen laughed, but Prince Emil and Hohenheim were silent.
"Where shall we go to-morrow evening in Munich to recompense ourselves for this boredom?" asked Cossigny.
"To the Casino, I think!" said the prince.
"Well, then we'll all meet there, shall we?"
The party assented.
"Provided that the countess has no commands for us," observed St. Génois.
"She will not have any," said the prince, "for either the Play will produce an absurd impression which is not to be expected, and then she will feel ashamed and unwilling to grant us our triumph because we predicted it, or her sentimental mood will draw from this farce a sweet poison of emotion, and in that case we shall be too frivolous for her! This must first be allowed to exhale."