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."