“Well!” said Beckendorff, “you spoiled the rubber. I shall ring for Clara. Why you all are so fond of going to bed I cannot understand. I have not been to bed these thirty years.” Vivian made his escape; and Beckendorff, pitying his degeneracy, proposed to the Prince, in a tone which seemed to anticipate that the offer would meet with instantaneous acceptation, double dummy. This, however, was too much. “No more cards, sir, I thank you,” said the Prince; “if, however, you have a mind for an hour’s conversation, I am quite at your service.” “I am obliged to you; I never talk. Good night, Mr. von Philipson.” Mr. Beckendorff left the room. His Highness could contain himself no longer. He rang the bell. “Pray, Mrs. Clara,” said he, “where are my horses?” “Mr. Beckendorff will have no quadrupeds within a mile of the house, except Owlface.” “How do you mean? Let me see the man-servant.” “The household consists only of myself, sir.” “Why! where is my luggage, then?” “That has been brought up, sir; it is in your room.” “I tell you I must have my horses.” “It is quite impossible to-night, sir. I think, sir, you had better retire. Mr. Beckendorff may not be home again these six hours.” “What! is your master gone out?” “Yes, sir, he is just gone out to take his ride.” “Why! where is his horse kept, then?” “It is Owlface, sir.” “Owlface, indeed! What! is your master in the habit of riding out at night?” “Mr. Beckendorff rides out, sir, just when it happens to suit him.” “It is very odd I cannot ride out when it happens to suit me! However, I will be off to-morrow; and so, if you please, show me my bed-room at once.” “Your room is the library, sir.” “The library! Why, there is no bed in the library.” “We have no beds, sir; but the sofa is made up.” “No beds! Well! it is only for one night. You are all mad, and I am as mad as you for coming here.” CHAPTER VII