“He has fought for Poland. He was a professor in the school where the students began the rebellion; and as he had been placed there by the Grand Duke Constantine, he has no hope of mercy----” “A professor of what?” “Of fine arts.” “And he came to Paris when the rebellion was quelled?” “In 1833. He came through Germany on foot.” “Poor young man! And how old is he?” “He was just four-and-twenty when the insurrection broke out--he is twenty-nine now.” “Fifteen years your junior,” said the Baroness. “And what does he live on?” asked Hortense. “His talent.” “Oh, he gives lessons?” “No,” said Cousin Betty; “he gets them, and hard ones too!” “And his Christian name--is it a pretty name?” “Wenceslas.” “What a wonderful imagination you old maids have!” exclaimed the Baroness. “To hear you talk, Lisbeth, one might really believe you.” “You see, mamma, he is a Pole, and so accustomed to the knout that Lisbeth reminds him of the joys of his native land.” They all three laughed, and Hortense sang _Wenceslas! idole de mon ame!_ instead of _O Mathilde_. Then for a few minutes there was a truce. “These children,” said Cousin Betty, looking at Hortense as she went up to her, “fancy that no one but themselves can have lovers.” “Listen,” Hortense replied, finding herself alone with her cousin, “if you prove to me that Wenceslas is not a pure invention, I will give you my yellow cashmere shawl.” “He is a Count.” “Every Pole is a Count!” “But he is not a Pole; he comes from Liva--Litha----” “Lithuania?” “No.” “Livonia?” “Yes, that’s it!” “But what is his name?” “I wonder if you are capable of keeping a secret.” “Cousin Betty, I will be as mute!----” “As a fish?” “As a fish.” “By your life eternal?” “By my life eternal!” “No, by your happiness in this world?” “Yes.” “Well, then, his name is Wenceslas Steinbock.” “One of Charles XII.’s Generals was named Steinbock.” “He was his grand-uncle. His own father settled in Livonia after the death of the King of Sweden; but he lost all his fortune during the campaign of 1812, and died, leaving the poor boy at the age of eight without a penny. The Grand Duke Constantine, for the honor of the name of Steinbock, took him under his protection and sent him to school.” “I will not break my word,” Hortense replied; “prove his existence, and you shall have the yellow shawl. The color is most becoming to dark skins.” “And you will keep my secret?” “And tell you mine.” “Well, then, the next time I come you shall have the proof.” “But the proof will be the lover,” said Hortense.