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way out of the window, had not heard the door open, and, never suspecting the presence of the prince, he remained seated, his back to the Royal Highness, and his elbows on the sill of the window.
A physiognomist witnessing this silent scene would have found in it a curious study of the reaction of feeling in the countenance of the prince.
At the sight of M. Pascal leaning out of the window, wearing a summer greatcoat, and violating all propriety by keeping his hat on his head, the archduke stopped short; his assumed smile vanished from his lips, and, taking a prouder attitude than ordinary, he stiffened himself in his handsome uniform, turned purple with anger, knit his eyebrows, while his eyes flashed with indignation. But soon reflection, doubtless, appeasing this inner storm, the features of the prince took on an expression of resignation as bitter as it was sad, and he bowed his head, as if he submitted to a fatal necessity.
Stifling a sigh of offended pride as he threw a glance of vindictive contempt on Pascal at the window, the prince again assumed, as we have said, his smile of affability, and walked toward the casement, coughing loud enough to announce his presence, and spare himself the last humiliation of touching the shoulder of our familiar visitor in order to attract his attention.
At the sonorous "hum-hum!" of his Royal Highness, M. Pascal turned around suddenly. The gloomy expression of his face was succeeded by a sort of cruel and malicious satisfaction, as if the occasion had furnished a victim upon whom he could vent his suppressed wrath.
M. Pascal approached the prince, saluted him in a free and easy manner, and holding his hat in one hand, while the other was plunged deep in his pocket, he said:
"A thousand pardons, monseigneur, really I did not know you were there."
"I am persuaded of that, M. Pascal," replied the prince, with ill-disguised haughtiness.
Then he added:
"Please follow me into my study, sir. I have some official news to communicate to you."
And he walked toward his study, when M. Pascal, with apparent calmness, for this man had a wonderful control over himself when it was necessary, said:
"Monseigneur, will you permit me one question?"
"Speak, sir," replied the prince, stopping and turning to his visitor, with surprise.
"Monseigneur, who is that young man of twenty at the most, with long blond hair, who promenades in the walk which can be seen from this window? Who is he, monseigneur?"
"You mean, no doubt, monsieur, my godson, Count Frantz de Neuberg."
"Ah, this young man is your godson, monseigneur? I congratulate you sincerely, — one could not see a prettier boy."
"Is he not?" replied the prince, sensible of this praise, even in the mouth of Pascal. "Has he not a charming face?"
"That is what I have just been observing at my leisure, monseigneur."
"And Count Frantz has not only a charming face," added the prince; "he has fine qualities of heart and great bravery."
"I am enchanted, monseigneur, to know that you have such an accomplished godson. Has he been in Paris long?"
"He arrived with me."
"And he will depart with you, monseigneur, for it must be painful for you to be separated from this amiable young man?"
"Yes, monsieur, I hope to take Count Frantz with me back to Germany."
"A thousand pardons, monseigneur, for my indiscreet curiosity, but your godson is one of those persons in whom one is interested in spite of himself. Now, I am at your service."
"Then follow me, if you please, monsieur."
Pascal nodded his head in assent, and, walking side by side with the archduke, he reached the door of the study with him, then, stopping with a gesture of deference, which was only another impertinence, he bowed slightly, and said to the prince, as if his Highness had hesitated to enter first:
"After you, monseigneur, after you."
The prince understood the insolence, but swallowed it, and entered his study, making a sign to Pascal to follow him.
The latter, although unaccustomed to the ceremonial of the court, had too much penetration not to comprehend the import of his acts and words. He had not only the consciousness of his insolence, instigated by his recent and suppressed resentment, but this insolence he had actually studied and calculated, and even in his interview had considered the question of addressing his Royal Highness as monsieur, simply; but, by a refinement of intelligent impertinence, he thought the ceremonious appellation of monseigneur would render his familiarities still more disagreeable to the dignity and good breeding of the prince.
Let us turn back to an analysis of the character of Pascal, — a character less eccentric, perhaps, than it appears at first to be. Let us say, simply, that for ten years of his life this man, born in a humble and precarious position, had as a day-labourer and drudge submitted to the most painful humiliations, the most insolent domination, and the most outrageous contempt. Thus, bitter and implacable hatreds were massed together in his soul, and the day when, in his turn, he became powerful, he abandoned himself without scruple and without remorse to the fierce joy of reprisal, and it gave him little concern if his revenge fell upon an innocent head.
The archduke, instead of a superior mind, possessed a long, practical acquaintance with men, acquired in the exercise of supreme authority in the military hierarchy of his country; besides, in his second interview with M. Pascal, — at which interview we have assisted, — he had understood the significance of the studied insolence of this person, and when, as he entered his study with him, he saw him, without invitation, seat himself familiarly in the armchair just occupied by a prime minister, whom he found full of courtesy and deference, the prince felt a new and cruel oppression of the heart.
The penetrating glance of Pascal surprised the expression of this feeling on the face of the archduke, and he said to himself, with triumphant disdain: "Here is a prince born on the steps of a throne, a cousin, at least, of all the kings of Europe, a generalissimo of an army of a hundred thousand soldiers, here he is in all the glory of his battle uniform, adorned with all the insignia of honour and war. This highness, this man, despises me in his pride of a sovereign race. He hates me because he has need of me, and knows well that he must humiliate himself; nevertheless, this man, in spite of his contempt, in spite of his hatred, I hold in my power, and I intend to make him feel it keenly, for to-day my heart is steeped in gall."
CHAPTER III
M. Pascal, having seated himself in the gilded armchair on the side of the table opposite the prince, first seized a mother-of-pearl paper-cutter that he found under his hand, and, whirling it incessantly, said:
"Monseigneur, if it is agreeable to you, let us talk of business, for at a certain hour I must be in the Faubourg St. Marceau, at the house of a manufacturer, who is one of my friends."
"I wish to inform you, monsieur," replied the prince, restraining himself with difficulty, "that I have already postponed until to-morrow other audiences that should have taken place to-day, that I might devote all my time to you."
"That is very kind of you, monseigneur, but let us come to the point."
The prince took up from the table a long sheet of official paper, and, handing it to M. Pascal, said to him:
"This note will prove to you, monsieur, that all the parties interested in the transfer that is proposed to me not only authorise me formally to accept it, but willingly offer their pledges, and even protect all the accidents of my acceptance."
M. Pascal, without moving from his armchair, extended his hand from one side of the table to the other, to receive the note, and, taking it, said:
"There was absolutely nothing to be done without this security."
And