“Hang your politics!” broke in a Hungarian. “Let us fight when the time comes, but not bother our heads about the cause. I 'd rather take my chance of a sabre-cut any day than addle my brains with too much thought. Here 's to you, Dalton, mayst soon be a Rittmeister of Hussars, lad; a prouder thing thou needst not ask for.” “Thou shalt give us a jolly supper at the 'Schwan,' Dalton, when we meet at Vienna,” said another. “And we'll pledge those fair sisters of thine and they 're both handsome, I 'll be sworn in the best Tokay Palfi's vineyard can yield.” “My regiment will be in garrison, in the Leopoldstadt, next month, and I'll remind thee of this pledge.” “And we shall be at Lintz,” broke in another; “and thou mayst reckon on me, if I have to suffer an arrest for it afterwards.” “So it is agreed, Dalton, we are thy guests. For what day shall it be?” “Ay, let us name the day,” cried several together. “When he is named an officer,” said Walstein, “that will be time enough.” “Nay, nay the day month after he arrives at Vienna,” cried the Bohemian. “I have given three breakfasts and five suppers on the occasion of my promotion, and the promotion has never come yet.” “The day month after I arrive, then, be it,” said Dalton. “We meet at where is it?” “The 'Schwan,' lad, the first restaurant of Europe. Let men talk as they will of the Cadran Bleu and the Trois Freres, I'd back Hetziuger's cook against the world; and as for wine, he has Steinkammer at thirty florins the flask! And we'll drink it, too, eh, Dalton? and we'll give a 'Hoch Lebe' to that old grandfather or grand-uncle of thine. We'll add ten years to his life.” “A poor service to Dalton,” said another; “but here comes Walstein's horses, and now for the last glass together before we part.” The parting seemed, indeed, to be “sweet sorrow,” for each leave-taking led to one flask more, friendship itself appearing to make wondrous progress as the bottle went round. The third call of the postilion's bugle a summons that even German loyalty could scarcely have courage to resist at last cut short the festivities, and Frank once more found himself in the caleche, where at least a dozen hands contested for the last shake of his, and a shower of good wishes mingled with the sounds of the crashing wheels. “Glorious fellows!” cried Dalton, in an ecstasy of delight; “such comrades are like brothers.”