Footmen, in the faultlessly elegant Mensdorff livery, opened the doors leading to the smaller rooms inhabited by the countess, and Lieutenant von Stielow entered a salon filled with ladies in fresh and varied toilettes and gentlemen in brilliant uniforms, or in the black civilian evening dress.

In a smaller room, opening out of the larger apartment, and filled with the thousand comfortable trifles found in the everyday drawing-room of a lady of rank, the minister's wife, by birth a Princess Dietrichstein, sat on a low divan. Her appearance was highly aristocratic, and she received her guests with the naturally graceful and friendly manner peculiar to distinguished society in Vienna.

Beside the Countess Mensdorff sat a full, luxuriant form in black, but the brilliancy of the wearer's priceless jewellery excluded all idea of mourning.

This lady's pale face, set off by ma.s.ses of black hair, was of unusual beauty, though deeply melancholy; her large black eyes, full of fire and expression, shone with no earthly happiness; their enthusiastic, thoughtful look recalled rather the old portraits of the high-born abbesses of some religious order.

She was the Princess Obrenowitsch, wedded to Prince Michael of Servia, but being separated from her husband, she lived in Vienna with her young son. This beautiful lady, by birth a Countess Huniady, was received with open arms by the highest society in Vienna, notwithstanding her separation from her husband, who took every opportunity of expressing his great esteem for her; but though she inherited the warm Hungarian blood, and possessed genius and health, she led, without entirely renouncing the world, a life of great seclusion, and devoted all her talents and care to the education of her young son, the heir of the princely house of Servia. It was always an event when the beautiful, proud, and pious princess quitted her seclusion and appeared in one of the salons of Vienna.

Before these ladies stood a somewhat short gentleman, of about sixty years of age. He wore the close-fitting grey uniform of a lieutenant field marshal, and was decorated with the Maria Theresa Cross, the Order of Leopold, and the Maltese Cross. His full red face, set on an unusually short neck, which looked the more remarkable from his closely-b.u.t.toned uniform, had an expression of inexhaustible fun and mirth; his dark eyes sparkled with life and good-natured satire; both his short moustache and thick hair were white as snow, the latter shorn so closely that the red tint showed through the bristly locks, and caused society in Vienna to maintain that Field Marshal Reischach's head looked like a very well-sugared strawberry.

Baron Reischach, one of the bravest officers in the Austrian army, was now incapable of active service from the many wounds he had received over his whole body; though they often caused him acute suffering, he was regarded in Vienna as a most cheerful member of society, to whom it seemed almost possible to be in two places at once, so completely did he see all that was to be seen, and know all that was to be known; his amusing stories and witty observations always banished ennui from every reunion where he appeared.

During a round of afternoon visits Baron Reischach was sure to be met with more than once, for he never neglected the old ladies of his acquaintance, and frequently called on them to inquire after their health, relate all the news of the day, and to show them all sorts of small attentions. In the evening he was to be found at the Burg Theatre, and between the acts he was always to be seen in the boxes of the older ladies, yet he managed to find time to slip behind the scenes and to compliment the _prime donne_ on their toilettes or their acting.

After the theatre he was always in some salon, now hurrying through some large "at home," bandying a _bon-mot_ here, relating a witty anecdote there, then for a quarter of an hour he might be found at the tea-table of some small circle, shaking from his inexhaustible cornucopia the most amusing stories. Later still, he was to be found in a corner of the dining-room of the Stadt Frankfurt Hotel, beside a gla.s.s of old Hungarian wine, the life and soul of some merry supper, the body consisting of Counts Wallis, Fuchs, and Wrbna.

Such was Lieutenant Field Marshal Reischach, who now stood before the ladies, holding his green plumed hat in his hand which rested on his sword.

He was telling them something very amusing, for Countess Mensdorff laughed aloud, and a smile pa.s.sed over even the grave face of the Servian princess.

"Now you must tell us, Baron Reischach," said the Countess Mensdorff, "everything you saw last night at the theatre--not how Wolter acted, we know in your eyes she is always superb, incomparable; but tell us what you observed in the house and the boxes. I am sure a great deal went on, or did not go on, that you can relate. You see you have made the princess smile already, make her laugh outright."

The baron replied, with a slight bow to the Princess Obrenowitsch: "I dare hardly hope the princess will listen much longer to an old worldling like myself, especially as _nothing_ happened. Our young Mecklenburg Uhlan pa.s.sed some time in the Countess Frankenstein's box, talking with great animation to Countess Clara, and thereby enraging one of our friends. I need not tell her name, I saw----"

Here his confidences were interrupted by the arrival of their subject, the young Uhlan officer, von Stielow, who advanced to pay his respects to Countess Mensdorff.

She laughed. "We were speaking of you, Baron Stielow; it was easy to see, this evening, at the theatre, it was not Wolter who engrossed your attention, which Herr von Reischach regards as a great mistake."

The young officer coloured slightly, saluted the field marshal, and said: "His excellency is a sharp observer. I was only a very short time at the Burg Theatre, and I visited some friends in their boxes."

The repartee Herr von Reischach was about to make, was prevented by the arrival of a tall gentleman in a general's uniform, accompanied by a slender, graceful lady, and as they came up to speak to the countess, Herr von Stielow seized the opportunity of escaping further discussion.

It was Count Clam Gallas, with his wife, Countess Mensdorff's younger sister. The count's tall form had not the perfect ease in uniform possessed by the great Austrian n.o.bles, his features were completely of the Hapsburg type, and he was decorated with the Golden Fleece; he offered his hand to his sister-in-law with simple cordiality; whilst his wife, whose figure was unusually elegant, and her beauty extraordinarily preserved, though she was no longer young, sank into an arm-chair beside Princess Obrenowitsch.

"Where is Mensdorff?" asked Count Clam Gallas, "I do not see him; he is surely not ill again?"

"He was sent for by the emperor," replied the countess; "and, though he has come back, he has something to despatch. I have had to offer his excuses; but we shall not have to wait for him much longer."

"I have heard wonders of your fete in Prague, countess," said the baron, turning to the Countess Clam Gallas, "they cannot praise it enough; Countess Waldstein, whom I met to-day, at Princess Lori Schwarzenberg's, has been quite enchanted."

"Yes, it was quite a success," said the countess, "and gave us all much pleasure. We had the idea," she continued, turning to Princess Obrenowitsch, "of performing Wallenstein's 'Camp in Prague;' of course, it has been so often performed before, there is nothing remarkable about that. The extraordinary thing was that the actors in this play, in which Schiller brings Wallenstein's army so wonderfully before us, were really direct descendants of the great leaders in the Thirty Years' War. This gave an unusual meaning, and an unusual spirit to the representation. I a.s.sure you we were all inspired by a breath from the past, both performers and audience felt the same vivid emotion. The ancient mighty spirit of Austria seemed to rise up before us, clashing its arms, and a blast from the Swedish horns would have made the whole company cry 'To horse!' and have sent them to ride forth like their ancestors."

"Yes," said Count Clam Gallas, "it made a wonderful impression on all of us--we all felt that the time will come, if it be G.o.d's will, when the Austrian sword must again be drawn, and our emperor restored to his old position. It looks to me as if the times were stormy, and we should soon ride forth."

There was a moment's pause. Herr von Reischach looked grave and was silent; when foreign policy and warlike action were spoken of, it grieved his true old soldier's heart, that he, with his hacked and shattered limbs, could no longer take a part.

Countess Mensdorff, whose fine tact always prevented political discussions in her drawing-room, broke the short silence by observing to von Reischach with a smile:

"It is a pity you were not there, Baron Reischach, you would have performed the Capuchin excellently, and preached the moral to the wicked world."

"Certainly," said he, and added in a tone of comic pathos: "_Contenti estote_, be satisfied with your ammunition bread."

"Yes, but if a _pate de foie gras_ came first, and a bottle of old Hungarian wine," laughed the count, "he would leave the ammunition bread alone."

"_Nullum vinum_," cried Herr von Reischach, stretching out his hand, and shaking his head, "_nisi Hungaric.u.m!_" he added in a lower tone, bowing to the Princess Obrenowitsch, who thanked him by a slight smile for the compliment paid her in her native tongue.

Other guests arrived, the circle of ladies increased, and Count Clam Gallas and Baron Reischach withdrew, still conversing, into the outer salon.

Here groups of ladies and gentlemen were talking with much animation; the younger people busy about their own affairs, the elder ladies watching the proceedings of their daughters, and the gentlemen casting searching glances at the different members of the _corps diplomatique_, who now exchanged a hasty word, now lingered in earnest conversation.

In the middle of the room, beneath the brilliant chandelier, stood the French amba.s.sador, the Duke de Gramont, a tall man, with a faultless figure and military bearing, with the white star of the Legion of Honour upon his black coat, and the broad red ribbon across his breast.

Short black whiskers framed his long, well-chiselled face, of the type of the old French aristocracy, combining amiable friendliness with dignified reserve. His small, beautifully-shaped mouth was slightly shaded by a moustache, the points of which were turned upwards; his brow was high and broad, but gently rounded rather than boldly arched; in his dark eyes shone the careless indifference which is always the heritage of the old French _n.o.blesse_, and which in so many phases of their history has caused them to treat the gravest and most important subjects with a lightness and frivolity difficult to understand. The arrangement of his abundant dark hair gave him a still greater resemblance to one of those old grand seigneurs who, in the palmy days of the monarchy, surrounded by pomp and stiff park alleys, led their careless, graceful lives so easily.

The duke was standing for a moment alone, examining those around, when he was joined by a gentleman of middle age, who, far from possessing the French amba.s.sador's careless and distinguished repose, was chiefly remarkable for the rapid changes of expression seen on his thin, strongly-marked face. He wore whiskers, and his light hair was cut and arranged in the way peculiar to the North German soldier. He was shorter than the duke, his movements were animated, his dress of faultless simplicity, and across his breast he wore the white and orange ribbon of the Prussian order of the Red Eagle.

Herr von Werther, the Prussian amba.s.sador, greeted the duke with much courtesy, but not with the cordiality which expresses personal friendship.

"At last, duke," said Herr von Werther, in French, "I am able to wish you good evening. How is the d.u.c.h.ess? I do not see her."

"She has a bad cold," replied the amba.s.sador. "And Madame von Werther, she, too, has to remain in the house from this influenza?"

"She is very unwell, and I should not have come out myself," said Herr von Werther, with a smile, "if it were not our duty to collect news."

"And have you succeeded?" asked the duke.

"Not yet. Count Mensdorff is still with the emperor, the countess tells me; and I have heard nothing, except a few _cancans_ from the guests.

But," he added gravely, and in a lower voice, "the air seems to me full of important events. You are well aware that the general feeling grows stronger and stronger."

"I regret that it is so," said the Duke de Gramont; "for such sharp opposition of conflicting views and claims can only lead to war.

Personally, this appears to me very undesirable."

"You know," replied Herr von Werther, "that we certainly do not wish for war; but can we avoid it, without sacrificing our dignity and our position? What would you advise?"

"We are completely out of the contention, we can only observe what takes place," said the duke, in a tone of reserve; "and we can only wish well to both sides: it would not become us to give advice, unless, indeed, we were asked to mediate. Do you not see," he added, with a forced smile, "that we are observed? We are rather isolated just here, and our harmless conversation may give rise----"

"You are quite right," interrupted Herr von Werther; "let us avoid these inquisitive eyes."

With a slight bow to the duke, and whispering to himself, "He knows nothing," he turned to a tall, strongly-built old gentleman, with a bald forehead, sharp features, and bright brown eyes, who stood a few paces off, dressed in the uniform of a Hanoverian general.

"Good evening, General Knesebeck," he said, whilst the general politely returned his greeting; "what news do you hear from Hanover?"

"None at all for some time past," replied the general slowly, with some reserve. "My brother lives quietly in the country; he writes to me but seldom, and troubles himself very little about events in Hanover."

"I rejoice," continued Herr von Werther, "that Count Platen has been to Berlin, as I hear the visit was of a most friendly nature. G.o.d grant that this may continue, and that all the little misunderstandings may vanish which have arisen between Prussia and Hanover, two states who really heartily esteem each other, as history and the traditions of the Seven Years' War amply prove."

"From my heart I regret the misunderstandings which have arisen on both sides," replied General von Knesebeck. "We in Hanover ardently wish to live in peace with our neighbours; but, before all things, we must labour to maintain the integrity of all the German states. Our safety, both from within and from without, depends on the friendship of the two great German powers, and on the united strength of the German confederation. G.o.d preserve them!"

A further remark from Herr von Werther was prevented by the approach of the English amba.s.sador, Lord Bloomfield. He had the regular features and characteristic countenance of the English aristocracy, with a healthy complexion and a fresh, genial expression. He was decorated with the ribbon of the Scotch order of the Thistle; and after he joined in the conversation, it turned to the every-day events of society in Vienna.