"My father was Lord Fitzgerald."
"What!" cried Maurice, "the diplomat, the historian, the
millionaire?"
"The same. Thirteen years ago we parted--a misunderstanding. I
never saw him again. Six months ago he died and left me a
fortune, a title and a strange legacy; and it is this legacy
which brings me to Bleiberg. Do you know the history of Leopold?"
"I do. This throne belongs to the house of Auersperg, and the
Osian usurps. The fact that the minister of the duchess has been
discredited was what brought me here. Continue."
And Fitzgerald proceeded briefly to acquaint the other with the
strange caprice of his father; how, when he left Bleiberg, he
had been waylaid and the certificates demanded; how he had
entrusted them to his valet, who had gone by another route; how
the duke had sought him in Vienna and made offers, bribes and
threats; how he had laughed at all, and sworn that Duke Josef
should never be a king.
"My father wished to save Leopold in spite of himself; and then,
he had no love for Josef. At a dinner given at the legation,
there was among others a toast to her Majesty. The duke laughed
and tossed the wine to the floor.
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