Randal arrived at the ambassador’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 attache, 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 attache, 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 door, 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 one man of high honour vouches for another, he commands the belief of all.”
“Certainly,” soliloquized Randal, “I must not be precipitate. I was very near 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 favourite county member, Sir John, was one of those 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 honour 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 honour 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 cannot have a better guide and adviser than Mr. Egerton himself.”
SIR JOHN.—“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 ambassador.” Randal escaped, and passing on, saw the ambassador himself in the next room, conferring in a corner with Audley Egerton. The ambassador seemed very grave, Egerton calm and impenetrable, as usual. Presently the count passed by, and the ambassador 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, he 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 present place; 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 cannot 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 Pandal. “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.”
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