“Wahnsdorf, I'm certain,” broke in the Princess; “and the girl--that Mademoiselle--” “Harley,” interposed Sir Horace. “Just so,--Harley. Pray go on,” said she, eagerly. “A very serious altercation and a duel were the consequences of this rivalry, and Wahnsdorf has been dangerously wounded; his life is still in peril. The Harleys have been sent out of the country, and my unlucky _protégé_, handed over to the Austrians, has been tried, condemned, and sentenced to twenty years in Kuffstein, a Tyrol fortress where great severity is practised,--from the neighborhood of which this letter is written, entreating my speedy interference and protection.” “What can you do? It is not even within your jurisdiction,” said she, carelessly. “True; nor was the capture by the Austrians within theirs, Princess. It is a case where assuredly everybody was in the wrong, and, therefore, admirably adapted for nice negotiation.” “Who and what is the youth?” “I have called him a _protégé_.” “Has he no more tender claim to the affectionate solicitude of Sir Horace Upton?” said she, with an easy air of sarcasm. “None, on my honor,” said he, eagerly; “none, at least, of the kind you infer. His is a very sad story, which I 'll tell you about at another time. For the present, I may say that he is English, and as such must be protected by the English authorities. The Government of Massa have clearly committed a great fault in handing him over to the Austrians. Stubber must be 'brought to book' for this in the first instance. By this we shall obtain a perfect insight into the whole affair.” “The Imperial family will never forgive an insult offered to one of their own blood,” said the Princess, haughtily. “We shall not ask them to forgive anything, my dear Princess. We shall only prevent their natural feelings betraying them into an act of injustice. The boy's offence, whatever it was, occurred outside the frontier, as I apprehend.” “How delighted you English are when you can convert an individual case into an international question! You would at any moment sacrifice an ancient alliance to the trumpery claim of an aggrieved tourist,” said she, rising angrily, and swept out of the room ere Sir Horace could arise to open the door for her. Upton walked slowly to the chimney and rang the bell. “I shall want the calèche and post-horses at eight o'clock, Antoine. Put up some things for me, and get all my furs ready.” And with this he measured forty drops from a small phial he carried in his waistcoat pocket, and sat down to pare his nails with a very diminutive penknife. CHAPTER XXXVIII. A DIPLOMATIST'S DINNER