“If that was Ordener Guldenlew,” he reflected, “then my poor Ulrica--But no; it is impossible that he could be such a fool as to prefer the penniless daughter of a prisoner of State to the wealthy daughter of an all-powerful minister. At any rate, Schumacker’s daughter can be no more than a caprice; and there is nothing to hinder a man who has a wife from having a mistress too; in fact, it is quite the stylish thing. But no, it was not Ordener. The viceroy’s son would never wear such a shabby jacket. And that old black plume without a buckle, beaten by the wind and rain! And that great cloak, big enough for a tent! And that disordered hair, with no combs and no frizzes! And those boots with iron spurs, covered with mud and dust! Indeed, it could never be he. Baron Thorwick is a knight of the Dannebrog. That fellow wore no decoration. If I were a knight of the Dannebrog, I believe I should wear the collar of the order to bed. Oh, no! He had never even read ‘Clelia.’ No, it was not the viceroy’s son.” XI. If man could still retain his warmth of soul when experience has taught him, if he could inherit the legacies of time without bending beneath the weight, he would never attack those exalted virtues whose first lesson is ever self-sacrifice.--MADAME DE STAËL: _Germany_. “Well, what is it? You, Poël! what brings you here?” “Your Excellency forgets that you yourself summoned me.” “Did I?” said the general. “Oh, I wanted you to hand me that portfolio.” Poël handed the governor the portfolio, which he could have reached himself by stretching out his arm. His Excellency mechanically replaced it without opening it; then he turned over some papers in an absentminded way. “Poël, I was going to ask you--What time is it?” “Six o’clock in the morning,” replied the general’s servant, who was facing the clock. “I was going to tell you, Poël--What is the news to-day at the palace?” The general went on shuffling his papers, writing a few words on each with a preoccupied air. “Nothing, your Excellency, except that we are still expecting my noble master, about whom I see the general is anxious.” The general rose from his big writing-table, and looked at Poël somewhat angrily. “Your eyes are very poor, Poël. I, anxious about Ordener, indeed! I know the reason for his absence; I do not expect him yet.” General Levin de Knud was so jealous of his authority that he would have considered it compromised had a subaltern been able to guess his secret thoughts, and learn that Ordener had acted without his orders. “Poël,” he added, “you may go.” The servant left the room.