"In the moon, perhaps!" was the laconic response.

"Our witness heard these words from your own lips, and you pointed out
the spot on the map to your friend."

"Your witness dreamed all this!"

"M. Cambray, let us talk sensibly. You are a banker--at least, that is
what you are registered in the police records. It is to the interest of
the state to discover your secret. If you will reveal the hiding-place
of your friend you may demand your own reward. Do you wish to be
intrusted with the management of the state's finances? Or--"

"I regret, monsieur le marquis," interrupted Cambray, "that I must
refuse so handsome an opportunity to enrich myself. Although I am a
banker, I am no swindler."

"Very good! Then you require no money. You are _not_ a banker, M.
Cambray; that is merely a fable. What is your ambition? Should you
prefer to be a governor? Name any office; let it be what it may, you
shall receive the appointment to-morrow."

"Thank you again, monsieur. I must repeat what I said before: I know
nothing about the future residence of the fugitive gentleman."

"And if I tell you, M. Cambray, that your refusal may cost you your
head?"

"I should reply," returned Cambray, smiling calmly, as he took up the
piece of bread lying on the table, "that it is a matter of perfect
indifference to me if this daily portion of bread is enjoyed by some one
else to-morrow. That which I do not know I cannot tell you."

"Very well, then," in a harsh tone rejoined De Fervlans. "I will tell
you that Cambray the banker may say what is not true; but the nobleman
cannot lie. _Marquis d'Avoncourt_, do you know to what country your
friend has flown?"

At this question the old gentleman rose from his chair, drew himself up
proudly, and gazing defiantly into the eyes of his questioner, replied:

"I do."

Instantly De Fervlans's manner changed. He became the embodiment of
courtesy. He bowed with extreme politeness, then, slipping his arm
familiarly through that of the prisoner, whispered insinuatingly:

"And what can we do to win this information from you?"

The gray-haired man released himself from De Fervlans's arm, and
answered with quiet irony:

"I will tell you what you can do: have my head cut off, and send it to
M. Bichet, the celebrated professor of anatomy; perhaps he may be able
to discover the information in my skull--if it is there! And now I beg
you to leave me; I wish to be alone."

De Fervlans took up his hat, but turned at the door to say, in a meaning
tone:

"Marquis d'Avoncourt, we shall forget that you are a prisoner so long as
it shall please you to remain obstinate. As for the fugitives, Cythera's
Brigade will capture them, sooner or later. _Au revoir_!"

That same night the old nobleman was removed to the prison at Ham.




CHAPTER IV


While the ensnared conspirators against the state were receiving
sentence in one district of Paris, in another district the inhabitants
were entertaining themselves.

Paris does not mourn very long. Paris is like the earth: one half of it
is always illumined by the sun. On this fateful evening the incroyables
and the merveilleuses were amusing themselves within the walls of the
Palace of Narcissus.

The members of Cythera's Brigade took great pains to make outsiders
believe that they never troubled themselves about that half of the world
which was in shadow--that half called politics.

In the salon of the fascinating Countess Themire Dealba not a word was
heard relating to affairs of state. The beautiful women who were banded
together to learn the secrets which threatened the present order of
government worked in an imperceptible manner. They did not belong to the
ordinary class of spies--those who collect every ill-natured word, every
trifling occurrence of the street. No, indeed! _They_ did nothing but
amuse themselves. They were merry society women, trusty friends and
confidantes. They moved in the best circles; no one ever saw them
exchange a word with a police commissioner. If any one in the company
happened to speak of anything even remotely connected with politics,
some one quickly changed the subject to a more innocent theme; and if a
stranger chanced to mention so delicate a matter as, say, the dinner
which had been given by the emperor's nephew at Very's, which cost
seventy-five thousand francs, while forty thousand laborers were
starving, then the witty Countess Themire herself turned the
conversation to the "toilet rivalry" between the Mesdames Tallien and
Recamier.

On this particular evening the Countess Dealba was discussing the
beauties of the latest opera with a few of her most intimate friends,
when the Marquis de Fervlans approached, and, bending over her,
whispered: "I must see you alone; find an opportunity to leave the room,
and join me in the conservatory."

At that time it was the fashion to clothe children in garments similar
to those worn by their elders. A company of little ones, therefore,
looked like an assemblage of Lilliputian merveilleuses and incroyables.
The little men and women also accompanied their mamas to receptions and
the theatre, where they joined in the conversation, danced vis-a-vis
with their elders, made witty remarks, criticized the toilets and the
play, gave an opinion as to whether Hardy's confections or those of
Riches were the better, and if it were safe to depend on the friendship
of the Czar Alexander.

In this company of little ones the Countess Amelie was, beyond a doubt,
the most conspicuous.

One could not have imagined anything more interesting or entertaining
than the manner of this miniature dame when left by her mama to do the
honors of the house. The dignity with which the child performed her
duties was enchanting. She understood perfectly how to entertain her
mother's guests, how to spice her conversation with piquant anecdotes,
how to mimic the manner of affected personages. She was, in a word, a
prodigy!

Countess Themire, knowing she might safely trust her little daughter to
perform the duties of hostess, followed De Fervlans to the conservatory.

"We have been outwitted," he began at once. "They vanished twelve hours
before we learned that they had flown."

The countess shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head.

"Why do you think it necessary to tell me this?" she inquired, with a
touch of asperity. "Have you not got enough police to arrest the
fugitives, who must pass through the entire country in their flight?"

"Yes, we have quite enough spies, and they are very skilful; but the
fugitives are a trifle more skilful. They have disguised themselves so
effectually that it is impossible to trace them. They seized a public
coach by force, changed the number on it, and sent it back from the
boundary by an accomplice, who left it in the Rue Muffetard. Even should
we succeed in tracing their flight, by the time we discovered them they
would have crossed the boundary of Switzerland, or would be sailing over
the ocean. No; we must begin all over again. There is but one expedient:
_you_ must travel in search of the fugitives, and bring them back."

"I go in search of them and bring them back?" repeated the countess, in
a startled tone.

"The first part of your task will not be so difficult," continued De
Fervlans. "The imprisoned marquis will not reveal the destination of the
fugitives; but we have learned, through your clever little daughter,
that they have gone to a country where there is order, but where there
are no police. That, methinks, is not a very difficult riddle to solve.
You need only journey from place to place until you find such a country.
The fugitives will be certain to betray themselves by their secrecy,
and I have not the least doubt but your search will be rewarded before
the year is out. For one year you shall have the command of three
hundred thousand francs. When you discover the fugitives you will know
very well what to do. The man is young and an enthusiast--an easy
conquest, I should fancy; and when you have ensnared him the maid's fate
is decided. We want the man, the maid, and the steel casket; any one of
the three, however, will be of great value to us. You will keep us
advised as to your progress, and we, of course, will assist you all we
can. You know that we have secret agents all over Europe. And now, you
will do well to prepare for an immediate departure; there is not a
moment to be lost."

"But good, heavens! how can I take Amelie on such a journey?"

"You are not to take her with you--of what are you thinking? That man
has already seen the child, and would recognize her at once."

"You surely cannot mean that I am to desert my daughter?"

"Don't you think Amelie will be in safe hands if you leave her in _my_
care?" asked De Fervlans, with a glance that would have made any one who
had not heard his words believe he was making a declaration of love.
"Besides, it will not be the first time you leave her to the care of
another."

"That is true," sighed the countess; "I ought to be accustomed to
parting with her. Have not I trusted her to the care of a police spy?
and all for my own advantage! Oh, what a wretched profession I have
chosen for myself and my child!"

"A profession that yields a handsome income, madame," supplemented the
marquis, a trifle sharply. "You ought not to complain. Surely the
regime is not to blame that you married a roue, who squandered your
fortune, and then was killed in a duel about a rope-dancer, leaving you
a clever little daughter and a half-million of debts! What else could
you have done to have earned a living for yourself and child?"

"I might have sent the child to a foundling asylum, and sought
employment for myself in the gobelin factory. It would have been better
had I done so!"

"I doubt it, countess. The path of virtue is only for those women
who--have large feet! You are too fairy-like, and would have found the
way too rough. It is much better, believe me, to serve the state. What
would you? Is there not a comforting word due to the conscience of the
soldier who has killed a fellow-being in the interest of his country?
Don't you suppose his heart aches when he looks upon the death-struggles
of the man he has killed without having a personal grudge against him?
We are all soldiers of the state. When we assault an enemy, we do not
inquire if we hurt him; we kill him! and the safety of our fatherland
hallows the deed."

"But that which we are doing is immoral," interposed the countess.

"And that which our enemy is doing is not immoral, I presume? Are not
their beautiful women, their polished courtiers, acting as spies in our
salons? We are only using their own weapons against them."

"That may be; but it was a repulsive thought that prompted the using of
children as instruments in this deadly game."

"Were not they the first to set us an example? Was not it a repulsive
thought which prompted them to hold over the heads of an entire people
that hellish machine of torture in the shape of a smiling child? No,
madame; we need not be ashamed of what we are doing. Our men are
engaged in warfare against their men; our lovely women are engaged in
warfare against their lovely women; and our little children are engaged
in warfare against their little children. Your little Amelie is a
historical figure, and deserves a monument."

The marquis, perceiving that his sophistry was not without its effect on
the lovely woman, continued:

"And then, madame, if you are weary of the role you and your little
daughter are playing with such success, the opportunity is now offered
to you to quit your present mode of life. Your financial affairs are
utterly ruined; you are only the nominal possessor of the estate you
inherited from your ancestors. If you succeed in the task which you are
about to undertake, the entire sum of money, the interest of which you
receive annually, becomes your own. Five millions of francs deserve some
sacrifice. With this sum you can become an independent woman, and your
daughter will never be reproached with having been, in her childhood, a
member of Cythera's Brigade."

Countess Themire deliberated a few moments; then she asked:

"May I not kiss my daughter farewell?"

"Leave your kiss with me, and I will deliver it faithfully!" smilingly
responded the marquis.

"How can you jest at such a moment? Suppose my absence lasts a long
time?"

"That is very probable."

"Am I not even to hear from my child--not even to let her know that I am
living?"

"Certainly, countess; you may communicate with her through me. Moreover,
it rests with yourself how soon you will return. Until that time it
shall be my pleasure to take care of Amelie; you may rest in peace as to
that!"

"Yes; she could not be in worse hands than in those of her mother!"
bitterly rejoined the countess. "The first letter, then, must be one of
farewell."

She rose, went into her boudoir, and wrote on a sheet of paper:

"MY DEAR CHILD: I am compelled to take a journey. I shall write to
you when I am ready to return. Until then, I leave you to perform
the duties of hostess, and intrust my money-chest to your care. I
embrace you a thousand times.

"Your old friend and little mama,

"THEMIRE."

She folded and sealed the letter, and handed it to De Fervlans.

"I shall be sure to deliver it," he said. "And now, send Jocrisse for a
fiacre; you must not use your own carriage for this. You can leave the
palace unperceived by the garden gate. Speak German wherever you go, and
remember that you do not understand a word of French. I think you would
better begin your search in Switzerland. And now, adieu, madame, until
we meet again--"

"If only I might take one last look at my little daughter!" pleadingly
interrupted the countess.

"Themire! You are actually beginning to grow sentimental. That does not
become a soldier!"

"Had I suspected this," returned Themire, "I would not have given
Amelie's portrait to M. Cambray in that ridiculous farce. I wonder if I
might not get it from him?"

"No; he will not part with it; he says he is going to keep it as a
talisman. Only M. Sanson has the privilege of relieving prisoners of
their trinkets, and Cambray is still far enough from Sanson's reach! I
shall have another portrait painted of Amelie, and send it to you."

"But this picture was painted while yet she was an innocent child."

"Upon my word, madame, you are as sentimental as a professor's daughter!
I begin to fear you will not accomplish your mission--that you will end
by falling in love with the man you are to capture for us, and betray us
to him."

Themire did not say another word, but hurried into her dressing-room.

De Fervlans wrote an order for one hundred and fifty thousand francs for
the Countess Themire Dealba for the first six months, added his wishes
for a pleasant and successful journey, then returned to the salon, where
he gave the missive which had been intrusted to his care to Jocrisse.

Jocrisse placed it on a silver tray, and presented it to the tiny lady
of the house.

"Pray allow me, ladies and gentlemen," said the Lilliputian _grande
dame_, as she broke the seal, "to read this letter--although I am only
just learning the alphabet!"

There were a number of persons in the company who understood and enjoyed
the concluding words.

The little countess lifted her gold-rimmed lorgnette to her eyes, and
read her mother's letter.

She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and opened wide her blue
eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she proceeded to explain, "mama has been called
suddenly away. She sends her greetings to you" (this was not in the
letter, but the little diplomatist thought it best to atone for her
mama's neglect) "until she returns, which will be very soon" (this also
was a thought of her own). "I am to fulfil the duties of lady of the
house."

Then she turned toward De Fervlans, and whispered, holding the
lorgnette in front of her lips:

"Mama leaves her money-chest in my care"--adding, with naive sarcasm,
"which means that she has left me to battle with her creditors."




PART II

THE HOME OF ANECDOTE


CHAPTER I


The entire population of Fertoeszeg was assembled on the public highway
to welcome the new proprietress of the estate. Elaborate preparations
had been made for the reception. An arch of green boughs--at the top of
which gleamed the word "Vivat" in yellow roses--spanned the road, on
either side of which were ranged twelve little girls in white, with
flower-baskets in their hands. They were under the superintendence of
the village cantor, whose intention it was to conclude the ceremonies
with a hymn of welcome by these innocent little creatures.

On a sort of platform, a bevy of rosy-cheeked maids were waiting to
present to the new-comer a huge hamper heaped to the brim with ripe
melons, grapes, and Ostyepka cheeses of marvelous shapes. Mortars
crowned the summit of the neighboring hill. In the shadow of a spreading
beech-tree were assembled the official personages: the vice-palatine,
the county surveyor, the village pastor, the district physician, the
justice of the peace, and the different attendants, county and state
employees, belonging to these gentlemen. The vice-palatine's assistant
ought also to have been in this company, but he was busy giving the last
instructions to the village beauties whose part it was to present the
hamper of fruit and cheeses.

These gentlemen had wives and daughters; but _they_ had stationed
themselves along the trench at the side of the road. _They_ did not
seek the shadow of a tree, because _they_ wished people to know that
_they_ had parasols; for to own a parasol in those days was no small
matter.

Preparations were making in the market-place for an ox-roast. The fat
young ox had been spitted, and the pile of fagots underneath him was
ready for the torch. Hard by, on a stout trestle, rested a barrel of
wine. In front of the inn a gypsy band were tuning their instruments,
while at the window of the church tower might have been seen two or
three child faces; they were on the lookout for the new lady of the
manor, in order that they might be ready to ring the bells the moment
she came in sight. There was only that one tower in the village, and
there was a cross on it; but it was not a Romish church, for all that.
The inhabitants were adherents of Luther--Swabians, mixed with Magyars.

The municipal authorities, in their holiday attire of blue cloth, had
grouped themselves about the town hall. The older men wore their long
hair brushed back from the temples and held in place by a curved comb.
The young men had thrust into the sides of their lambskin caps gay
little nosegays of artificial flowers. _They_ proposed to fire a grand
salute from the pistols they had concealed in their pockets.

Meanwhile, the dignitaries underneath the umbrageous beech-tree were
passing the time of waiting pleasantly enough. Maple wine mixed with
mineral water was a very refreshing drink in the intense heat; besides,
it served as a stimulant to the appetite--_appetitorium_, they called
it.

Three wooden benches, joined together in a half-circle, formed a
comfortable resting-place for the committee of reception, the chief of
whom, the vice-palatine, was seated on the middle bench, drawing through
the stem of his huge carved meerschaum the smoke of the sweet Veker
tobacco. His figure was the living illustration of the ever true axiom:
"_Extra Hungariam non est vita_,"--an axiom which his fat red face by no
means confuted,--while his heavy, stiffly waxed mustache seemed to add
menacingly: "Leave the Hungarian in peace."

He shared his seat with the clergyman, whose ecclesiastical office
entitled him to that honor. The reverend gentleman, however, was an
extremely humble person, whom erudition had bent and warped to such a
degree that one shoulder was lower than the other, one eyelid was
elevated above its fellow, and only one half of his mouth opened when he
gave utterance to a remark. His part in the festive ceremony was the
performance of the _beneventatio_; and although he had committed the
speech to memory, he could not help but tremble at thought of having to
repeat it before so grand a dame as the new mistress of the manor. He
always trembled whenever he began his sermons; but once fairly started,
then he became a veritable Demosthenes.

"I only hope, reverend sir," jestingly observed the vice-palatine, "that
it will not happen to you as it did to the _csokonai_, not long ago.
Some wags exchanged his sermon-book for one on cookery, and he did not
notice it until he began to read in the pulpit: 'The vinegar was--' Then
he saw that he was reading a recipe for pickled gherkins. He had the
presence of mind, however, to continue, '--was offered to the Saviour,
who said, "It is finished."' And on that text he extemporized a
discourse that astounded the entire presbytery."

"I shall manage somehow to say my speech," returned the pastor, meekly,
"if only I do not stumble over the name of the lady."

"It is a difficult name," assented the vice-palatine. "What is it? I
have already forgotten it, reverend sir."

"Katharina von Landsknechtsschild."

The vice-palatine's pointed mustaches essayed to give utterance to the
name.

"Lantz-k-nek-hisz-sild--that's asking a great deal from a body at one
time!" he concluded, in disgust at his ill success.

"And yet, it is a good old Hungarian family name. The last Diet
recognized her ancestors as belonging to the nobility."

This remark was made by a third gentleman. He was sitting on the left of
the vice-palatine, and was clad in snuff-colored clothes. His face was
covered with small-pox marks; he had tangled yellow hair and inflamed
eyelids.

"Are you acquainted with the family, doctor?" asked the vice-palatine.

"Of course I am," replied the doctor. "Baron Landsknechtsschild
inherited this estate from his mother, who was a Markoczy. The baron
sold the estate to his niece Katharina. You, Herr Surveyor, must have
seen the baron, when the land was surveyed around the Nameless Castle
for the mad count?"

The surveyor, who was seated beside the doctor, was a clever man in his
profession, but little given to conversation. When he did open his lips,
he rarely got beyond: "I--say--what was it, now, I was going to say?"

As no one seemed willing to-day to wait until he could remember what he
wanted to remark, the doctor, who was never at a loss for words,
continued:

"The Baroness Katharina paid one hundred thousand florins for the
estate, with all its prerogatives--"

"That's quite a handsome sum," observed the vice-palatine. "And, what is
handsomer, it is said the new proprietress intends to take up a
permanent residence here. Is not that the report, Herr Justice? You
ought to know."

The justice had an odd habit, while speaking, of rubbing together the
palms of his hands, as if he were rolling little dumplings between them.

"Yes--yes," he replied, beginning his dumpling-rolling; "that is quite
true. The baroness sent some beautiful furniture from Vienna; also a
piano, and a tuner to tune it. All the rooms at the manor have been hung
with new tapestry, and the conservatory has been completely renovated."

"I wonder how the baroness came to take such a fancy to this quiet
neighborhood? It is very strange, too, that none of the neighboring
nobles have been invited here to meet her. It is as if she intended to
let them know in advance that she did n't want their acquaintance. At
any other celebration of this sort half the county would have been
invited, and here are only ourselves--and we are here because we are
obliged, _ex officio_, to be present."

This speech was delivered over the mouthpiece of the vice-palatine's
meerschaum.

"I fancy I can enlighten you," responded the doctor.

"I thought it likely that the 'county clock' could tell us something
about it," laughingly interpolated the vice-palatine.

"You may laugh as much as you like, but I always tell what is true,"
retorted the "county clock." "They say that the baroness was betrothed
to a gentleman from Bavaria, that the wedding-day was set, when the
bridegroom heard that the lady he was about to marry was--"

"Hush!" hastily whispered the justice; "the servants might hear you."

"Oh, it is n't anything scandalous. All that the bridegroom heard was
that the baroness was a Lutheran; and as the _matrimonia mixta_ are
forbidden in Vienna and in Bavaria, the bridegroom withdrew from the
engagement. In her grief over the affair, the _sposa repudiata_ said
farewell to the world, and determined to wear the_parta_[2] for the
remainder of her days. That is why she chose this remote region as a
residence."

[Footnote 2: A head-covering worn only by Hungarian maidens.]

Here the bell in the church tower began to ring. It was followed by a
roar from the mortars on the hilltop.

The gypsy band began to play Biharis's "Vierzigmann Marsch"; a cloud of
dust rose from the highway; and soon afterward there appeared an
outrider with three ostrich-plumes in his hat. He was followed by a
four-horse coach, with coachman and footman on the box.

The committee of reception came forth from the shade of the beech and
ranged themselves underneath the arch. The clergyman for the last time
took his little black book from his pocket, and satisfied himself that
his speech was still in it. The coach stopped, and it was discovered
that no one occupied it; only the discarded shawl and traveling-wraps
told that women had been riding in the conveyance.

The general consternation which ensued was ended by the agent from
Vienna, who drove up in a second vehicle. He explained that the baroness
and her companion had alighted at the park gate, whence they would
proceed on foot up the shorter foot-path to the manor. And thus ended
all the magnificent preparations for the reception!

A servant now came running from the village, his plumed _czako_ in one
hand, and announced that the baroness awaited the dignitaries at the
manor.

This was, to say the least, exasperating! A whole week spent in
preparing--for nothing!

You may be sure every one had something to say about it, audibly and to
themselves, and some one was even heard to mutter:

"This is the _second_ mad person come to live in Fertoeszeg."

And then they all betook themselves, a disappointed company, to their
homes.

The baroness, who had preferred to walk the shorter path through the
park to driving around the village in the dust for the sake of receiving
a ceremonious welcome, was a lovely blonde, a true Viennese,
good-humored, and frank as a child. She treated every one with cordial
friendliness. One might easily have seen that everything rural was new
to her. While walking through the park she took off her hat and
decorated it with the wild flowers which grew along the path. In the
farm-yard she caught two or three little chickens, calling them
canaries--a mistake the mother hen sought in the most emphatic manner to
correct. The surly old watch-dog's head was patted. She brushed with her
dainty fingers the hair from the eyes of the gaping farmer children. She
was here and there in a moment, driving to despair her companion, whose
gouty limbs were unable to keep pace with the flying feet of her
mistress.

At the manor the baroness was received by the steward, who had been sent
on in advance with orders to prepare the "installation dinner." Then she
proceeded at once to inspect every corner and crevice--the kitchen as
well as the dining-room, astonishing the cooks with her knowledge of
their art. She was summoned from the kitchen to receive the dignitaries.

"Let there be no ceremony, gentlemen," she exclaimed in her musical
voice, hastening toward them. "I detest all formalities. I have had a
surfeit of them in Vienna, and intend to breathe natural air here in the
country, without 'fuss or feathers,' with no incense save that which
rises from burning tobacco! This is why I avoided your parade out
yonder on the highway. I want nothing but a cordial shake of your hands;
and as regards the official formalities of this 'installation' business,
you must settle that with my agent, who has authority to act for me.
After that has been arranged, we will all act as if we were old
acquaintances, and every one of you must consider himself at home here."

To this gracious speech the vice-palatine gave utterance to something
which sounded like:

"Kisz-ti-hand!"

"Ah!" returned the baroness, "you speak German?"

"Well, yes," replied the descendant of the Scythians; "only, I am likely
to blunder when speaking it, as did the valiant Barkocz. When our
glorious Queen Maria Theresa recovered from the chicken-pox, she was
bemoaning the disfiguring scars left on her face, when the brave
soldier, in order to comfort her, said: 'But your Majesty still has very
beautiful _leather_.'"

"Ha, ha, ha!" merrily laughed the baroness. "You are the gentleman who
has an anecdote to suit every occasion. I have already heard about you.
Pray introduce the other gentlemen."

The vice-palatine proceeded to obey this request. "This is the Rev. Herr
Tobias Mercatoris, our parish clergyman. He has a beautiful speech
prepared to receive your ladyship; but he can't repeat it here, as it
begins, 'Here in the grateful shadow of these green trees.'"

"Oh, well, your reverence, instead of the speech, I will listen to your
sermons on Sundays. I intend to become a very zealous member of your
congregation."

"And this, your ladyship," continued the master of ceremonies, "is Dr.
Philip Tromfszky, resident physician of Fertoeszeg, who is celebrated not
only for his surgical and medical skill, but is acknowledged here, as
well as in Raab, Komorn, Eisenburg, and Odenburg, as the greatest gossip
and news dispenser in the kingdom."

"A most excellent accomplishment!" laughingly exclaimed the baroness. "I
am devoted to gossip; and I shall manage to have some ailment every few
days in order to have the doctor come to see me!"

Then came the surveyor's turn.

"This, your ladyship, is Herr Martin Doboka, county surveyor and expert
mathematician. He will measure for you land, water, or fog; and if your
watch stops going, he will repair it for you!"

"And who may this be?" smilingly inquired the lady, indicating the
vice-palatine's assistant, who had thrust his long neck inquisitively
forward.

"Oh, he is n't anybody!" replied the vice-palatine. "He is never called
by name. When you want him just say: '_Audiat!_' He is one of those
persons of whom Cziraky said: 'My lad, don't trouble yourself to inquire
where you shall seat yourself at table; for wherever you sit will always
be the lowest place!'"

This anecdote caused "Audiat" to draw back his head and seek to make
himself invisible.

"And now, I must present myself: I am the vice-palatine of this county,