" To
Fitzgerald she said: "You are the son of the late Lord
Fitzgerald."
"For your sake, I regret to say that I am."
"For my sake? Worry yourself none on that point. As the agent of
her Highness I am inconsiderable."
"Madame," said Maurice, "will you do us the honor to inform us
to whom we are indebted for this partiality to our distinguished
persons?"
"I am Sylvia Amerbach," quietly.
"Amerbach?" said Maurice, who was familiar with the great names
of the continent. "Pardon me, but that was once a famous name in
Prussia."
"I am distantly related to that house of princes," looking at
her gauntlets.
"Well, Madame, since your business doubtless concerns me, pray,
begin;" and Fitzgerald leaned against the mantelpiece and
fumbled with the rim of his monocle.
Maurice walked to one of the windows and perched himself on the
broad sill. He began to whistle softly:
Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote. . . .
Beyond the window, at the edge of the forest, he saw a sentinel
pacing backward and forward. Indeed, no matter which way he
looked, the autumnal scenery had this accessory.
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