“And your age may be about thirty?” said Frank, half in question and half in sarcasm. “I was twenty-eight last August,” was the calm reply. “By Jove! that is a service!” exclaimed Frank, “where a man scarcely ten years my senior may command a regiment!” The other laughed, and after a brief pause, said, “People are in the habit of calling me fortunate, so that you must not suppose my case to be the rule.” “Be it so: even as an exception, the example is a bright one. Another may do what you have done.” “If you mean that I have earned my rank by services, boy,” said the Count, smiling, “you would make a grave mistake. My promotion had another source.” Frank looked as though he were curious to hear the explanation, but the other gave none. “How do you call yourself?” asked he of Frank, after a pause. “Dalton,” replied the boy, more respectfully than before. “We have a field-marshal of that name in the service, a most gallant old soldier, too.” “My grand-uncle!” cried Frank, with enthusiasm. “Indeed! So you are a grand-nephew to the Graf von Auersberg,” said the Count, taking a more deliberate view than he had yet bestowed upon him. “Then how comes it you are travelling in this fashion, and on foot?” “I have not asked you why you journey in a caleche with three horses,” said Frank, insolently. “It's my habit to do so.” “This, then, may be mine, sir,” said Frank, throwing his knapsack on his shoulder, and preparing to depart. “Is not the Franz Carl at Vienna?” said the Count, not seeming to notice the irritation of his manner. “I believe so.” “Well, then, as I am going thither, perhaps you will accept of a seat in my caleche?” There was a frankness in the way this offer was made that suddenly routed the ill-temper Frank had fallen into. No one was less disposed than himself to accept of a favor from a perfect stranger; but the tone and manner of the proffer had, somehow, disarmed it of all appearance of such; and as he stood uncertain what answer to make, the Count added: “I 'm always lucky. I was just wishing for a travelling companion, and fortune has thrown us into acquaintanceship.” “I don't know I can scarcely tell,” said Frank, hesitating, “how or what to answer.” “You forget that we are comrades, Dalton or shall be, at least, in another day or two,” said the Count, familiarly; “so step in, and no more about it.” The caleche had drawn up as he spoke, and the courier stood, cap in hand, beside the door, so that Frank had no time for any but an abrupt refusal, and that he could not give; he therefore bowed his head, and sprang in. The door was slammed sharply to, and the next moment the horses were rattling along over the snow, the merry bells of the harness jingling pleasantly as they went.