“They know nothing of Austrian soldiers who say these things,” said Frank, haughtily; “but there is the more need that I should lose no time here.” “Come, then, I will show you the way to the chapel,” said Norwood, who could not divest himself of a feeling of interest for the young soldier. Frank spoke a few words in Hungarian to his men, and hastily wrapping the dead man in his cloak, they placed him on a door, his chako and his sword at either side of him. “You will see that he is buried as becomes a brave and a true soldier,” said Frank, with a faltering accent, as they went along. “This will defray the cost.” “No, no; there is no need of that,” said Norwood, pushing away the proffered purse. “We'll look to it ourselves.” “Let there be some record of him preserved, too, for his friends' sake. His name was 'Stanislas Ravitsky.'” “And may I ask yours?” said Norwood. “You'll hear of it in the first court-martial return for Milan,” said Frank, bitterly. “Then why go there?--why hasten to certain ruin?” “You would say, why not desert?----why not forfeit my honor and my oath? Because I am a gentleman, sir; and if the explanation be not intelligible, so much the worse for you.” “I have left him in the chapel,” said Norwood to D'Esmonde, a few minutes after this conversation; “he is kneeling beside the corpse, and praying. There is nothing to be done with him. It is but time lost to attempt it.” “So much the worse for _him,_” said D'Esmonde, significantly repeating the words that Norwood related, while he hastily left the spot and walked towards the high-road, where now an Austrian picket was standing beside the horses. “This is your warrant, sir,” said D'Esmonde to the officer, handing him a paper; “You 'll find the person you seek for in the chapel yonder.” The officer saluted in reply, and ordered his men to mount; while D'Esmonde, passing into a thick part of the copse, was out of sight in a moment. CHAPTER XVI. PETER DALTON ON POLITICS, LAW, AND SOCIALITIES. We have seen Baden in the dark winter of its discontent--in the spring-time of its promise--and now we come back to it once more, in the fall blaze of its noonday splendor. It was the height of the season! And what a world of dissipation does that phrase embody! What reckless extravagance, what thoughtless profusion, what systematic vice glossed over by the lacquer of polished breeding, what beauty which lacks but innocence to be almost divine! All the attractions of a lovely country, all the blandishments of wealth, the aids of music and painting, the odor of flowers, the songs of birds,--all pressed into the service of voluptuous dissipation, and made to throw a false lustre over a scene where vice alone predominates.