"Who are you?" asked the duke in sharp, harsh tones.
"Gustaf Bertel, Lieutenant in his Royal Majesty's Finnish cavalry."
"What do you want?"
The young man coloured up and remained silent. The duke noticed this and looked at him with a discontented air.
"I understand," the latter said at last, "you have as usual been fighting with the German officers about the girls. I will not allow this sort of thing. A soldier's sword should be reserved for his country's enemies."
"I have not been fighting, your highness."
"All the worse. You came to ask for a furlough to go to Finland. I refuse it to you. I want all my men here. You will stay, Lieutenant. Good-bye!"
"I do not come to ask for a furlough."
"Well, What the devil do you want? Can you not speak out? Be short and quick! Leave the clergy to say prayers, and the girls to blush."
"Your highness has received from his Majesty, the late king, a ring..."