‘Your Highness,’ said Sir John at last, ‘you must not expect grapes from a thistle. I am old and a cynic. Nobody cares a rush for me; and on the whole, after the present interview, I scarce know anybody that I like better than yourself. You see, I have changed my mind, and have the uncommon virtue to avow the change. I tear up this stuff before you, here in your own garden; I ask your pardon, I ask the pardon of the Princess; and I give you my word of honour as a gentleman and an old man, that when my book of travels shall appear it shall not contain so much as the name of Grünewald. And yet it was a racy chapter! But had your Highness only read about the other courts! I am a carrion crow; but it is not my fault, after all, that the world is such a nauseous kennel.’ ‘Sir,’ said Otto, ‘is the eye not jaundiced?’ ‘Nay,’ cried the traveller, ‘very likely. I am one who goes sniffing; I am no poet. I believe in a better future for the world; or, at all accounts, I do most potently disbelieve in the present. Rotten eggs is the burthen of my song. But indeed, your Highness, when I meet with any merit, I do not think that I am slow to recognise it. This is a day that I shall still recall with gratitude, for I have found a sovereign with some manly virtues; and for once—old courtier and old radical as I am—it is from the heart and quite sincerely that I can request the honour of kissing your Highness’s hand?’ ‘Nay, sir,’ said Otto, ‘to my heart!’ And the Englishman, taken at unawares, was clasped for a moment in the Prince’s arms. ‘And now, sir,’ added Otto, ‘there is the Pheasant House; close behind it you will find my carriage, which I pray you to accept. God speed you to Vienna!’ ‘In the impetuosity of youth,’ replied Sir John, ‘your Highness has overlooked one circumstance. I am still fasting.’ ‘Well, sir,’ said Otto, smiling, ‘you are your own master; you may go or stay. But I warn you, your friend may prove less powerful than your enemies. The Prince, indeed, is thoroughly on your side; he has all the will to help; but to whom do I speak?—you know better than I do, he is not alone in Grünewald.’ ‘There is a deal in position,’ returned the traveller, gravely nodding. ‘Gondremark loves to temporise; his policy is below ground, and he fears all open courses; and now that I have seen you act with so much spirit, I will cheerfully risk myself on your protection. Who knows? You may be yet the better man.’ ‘Do you indeed believe so?’ cried the Prince. ‘You put life into my heart!’ ‘I will give up sketching portraits,’ said the Baronet. ‘I am a blind owl; I had misread you strangely. And yet remember this; a sprint is one thing, and to run all day another. For I still mistrust your constitution; the short nose, the hair and eyes of several complexions; no, they are diagnostic; and I must end, I see, as I began.’ ‘I am still a singing chambermaid?’ said Otto.