Randal arrived at the embassador’s before the Count, and contrived to mix
with the young noblemen attached to the embassy, and to whom he was known.
Standing among these was a young Austrian, on his travels, of very high
birth, and with an air of noble grace that suited the ideal of the old
German chivalry. Randal was presented to him, and after some talk on
general topics, observed. “By the way, Prince, there is now in London a
countryman of yours, with whom you are doubtless familiarly acquainted—the
Count di Peschiera.”
“He is no countryman of mine. He is an Italian. I know him but by sight
and by name,” said the Prince, stiffly.
“He is of very ancient birth, I believe.”
“Unquestionably. His ancestors were gentlemen.”
“And very rich.”
“Indeed! I have understood the contrary. He enjoys, it is true, a large
revenue.”
A young _attaché_, less discreet than the Prince, here observed, “Oh,
Peschiera!—Poor fellow, he is too fond of play to be rich.”
“And there is some chance that the kinsman whose revenue he holds may
obtain his pardon, and re-enter into possession of his fortunes—so I hear,
at least,” said Randal artfully.
“I shall be glad if it be true,” said the Prince, with decision; “and I
speak the common sentiment at Vienna. That kinsman had a noble spirit, and
was, I believe, equally duped and betrayed. Pardon me, sir; but we
Austrians are not so bad as we are painted. Have you ever met in England
the kinsman you speak of?”
“Never, though he is supposed to reside here; and the Count tells me that
he has a daughter.”
“The Count—ha! I heard something of a scheme—a wager of that—that
Count’s—a daughter. Poor girl! I hope she will escape his pursuit; for, no
doubt, he pursues her.”
“Possibly she may already have married an Englishman.”
“I trust not,” said the Prince, seriously; “that might at present be a
serious obstacle to her father’s return.”
“You think so?”
“There can be no doubt of it,” interposed the _attaché_, with a grand and
positive air; “unless, indeed, the Englishman were of a rank equal to her
own.”
Here there was a slight, well-bred murmur and buzz at the doors; for the
Count di Peschiera himself was announced; and as he entered, his presence
was so striking, and his beauty so dazzling, that whatever there might be
to the prejudice of his character, it seemed instantly effaced or
forgotten in that irresistible admiration which it is the prerogative of
personal attributes alone to create.
The Prince, with a slight curve of his lip at the groups that collected
round the Count, turned to Randal and said, “Can you tell me if a
distinguished countryman of yours is in England—Lord L’Estrange?”
“No, Prince—he is not. You know him?”
“Well.”
“He is acquainted with the Count’s kinsman; and perhaps from him you have
learned to think so highly of that kinsman?”
The Prince bowed, and answered as he moved away. “When a man of high honor
vouches for another he commands the belief of all.”
“Certainly,” soliloquized Randal, “I must not be precipitate. I was very
nearly falling into a terrible trap. If I were to marry the girl, and
only, by so doing, settle away her inheritance on Peschiera!—How hard it
is to be sufficiently cautious in this world!”
While thus meditating, a member of Parliament tapped him on the shoulder.
“Melancholy, Leslie! I lay a wager I guess your thoughts.”
“Guess,” answered Randal.
“You were thinking of the place you are so soon to lose.”
“Soon to lose!”
“Why, if ministers go out, you could hardly keep it, I suppose.”
This ominous and horrid member of Parliament, Squire Hazeldean’s favorite
county member, Sir John, was one of these legislators especially odious to
officials—an independent ’large-acred’ member, who would no more take
office himself than he would cut down the oaks in his park, and who had no
bowels of human feeling for those who had opposite tastes and less
magnificent means.
“Hem!” said Randal, rather surlily. “In the first place, Sir John,
ministers are not going out.”
“Oh, yes, they will go. You know I vote with them generally, and would
willingly keep them in; but they are men of honor and spirit; and if they
can’t carry their measures, they must resign; otherwise, by Jove, I would
turn round and vote them out myself!”
“I have no doubt you would, Sir John; you are quite capable of it; that
rests with you and your constituents. But even if ministers did go out, I
am but a poor subaltern in a public office. I am no minister—why should I
go out, too?”
“Why? Hang it, Leslie, you are laughing at me. A young fellow like you
could never be mean enough to stay in, under the very men who drove out
your friend Egerton!”
“It is not usual for those in the public offices to retire with every
change of Government.”
“Certainly not; but always those who are the relations of a retiring
minister—always those who have been regarded as politicians, and who mean
to enter Parliament, as of course you will do at the next election. But
you know that as well as I do—you who are so decided a politician—the
writer of that admirable pamphlet! I should not like to tell my friend
Hazeldean, who has a sincere interest in you, that you ever doubted on a
question of honor as plain as your A, B, C.”
“Indeed, Sir John,” said Randal, recovering his suavity, while he inly
breathed a dire anathema on his county member, “I am so new to these
things, that what you say never struck me before. No doubt you must be
right; at all events, I can not have a better guide and adviser than Mr.
Egerton himself.”
“No, certainly—perfect gentleman, Egerton! I wish we could make it up with
him and Hazeldean.”
RANDAL (sighing).—“Ah, I wish we could!”
SIR JOHN.—“And some chance of it now; for the time is coming when all true
men of the old school must stick together.”
RANDAL.—“Wisely, admirably said, my dear Sir John. But pardon me, I must
pay my respects to the embassador.”
Randal escaped, and, passing on, saw the embassador himself in the next
room, conferring in a corner with Audley Egerton. The embassador seemed
very grave—Egerton calm and impenetrable, as usual. Presently the Count
passed by, and the embassador bowed to him very stiffly.
As Randal, some time later, was searching for his cloak below, Audley
Egerton unexpectedly joined him.
“Ah, Leslie,” said the minister with more kindness than usual, “if you
don’t think the night air too cold for you, let us walk home together. I
have sent away the carriage.”
This condescension in his patron was so singular that it quite startled
Randal, and gave him a presentiment of some evil. When they were in the
street, Egerton, after a pause, began—
“My dear Mr. Leslie, it was my hope and belief that I had provided for you
at least a competence; and that I might open to you, later, a career yet
more brilliant. Hush! I don’t doubt your gratitude; let me proceed. There
is a possible chance, after certain decisions that the Government have
come to, that we may be beaten in the House of Commons, and of course
resign. I tell you this beforehand, for I wish you to have time to
consider what, in that case, would be your best course. My power of
serving you may then probably be over. It would, no doubt (seeing our
close connection, and my views with regard to your future being so well
known)—no doubt, be expected that you should give up the place you hold,
and follow my fortunes for good or ill. But as I have no personal enemies
with the opposite party—and as I have sufficient position in the world to
uphold and sanction your choice, whatever it may be, if you think it more
prudent to retain your place, tell me so openly, and I think I can
contrive that you may do it without loss of character and credit. In that
case, confine your ambition merely to rising gradually in your office,
without mixing in politics. If, on the other hand, you should prefer to
take your chance of my return to office, and so resign your own; and,
furthermore, should commit yourself to a policy that may then be not only
in opposition, but unpopular, I will do my best to introduce you into
parliamentary life. I can not say that I advise the latter.”
Randal felt as a man feels after a severe fall—he was literally stunned.
At length he faltered out,
“Can you think, sir, that I should ever desert your fortunes—your
party—your cause?”
“My dear Leslie,” replied the minister, “you are too young to have
committed yourself to any men or to any party, except, indeed, in that
unlucky pamphlet. This must not be an affair of sentiment, but of sense
and reflection. Let us say no more on the point now; but, by considering
the _pros_ and the _cons_, you can better judge what to do, should the
time for option suddenly arrive.”
“But I hope that time may not come.”
“I hope so too, and most sincerely,” said the minister, with deliberate
and genuine emphasis.
“What could be so bad for the country?” ejaculated Randal. “It does not
seem to me possible, in the nature of things, that you and your party
should ever go out!”
“And when we are once out, there will be plenty of wiseacres to say it is
out of the nature of things that we should ever come in again. Here we are
at the door.”